On The Line
by NewTwilightFan
Summary: New Quantico graduate Agent Isabella Swan is assigned to go under cover with a partner she's never met. Their mission will require every ounce of their skill, cunning, and discipline. . . then it will demand more. Agent Swan is totally green. Agent Masen is an enigma. Trust will be the least of their challenges when they discover how much is really on the line.
1. Chapter 1

2/18/15 ****PLEASE READ**** _Questions and comments in the reviews for this story have made it clear to me that some disclaimers are in order. This is an crime/suspense story, not a romance. If you like smut, fluff or angst riddled romance, I have other stories that fit the bill. This isn't it. There will be violence, both physical and sexual, but I plan to treat the victims of this story and the real world problems this fic is based on with the honesty, gravity and respect they deserve. With that said, please remember that this is still a work of fiction and I am NOT an expert on the FBI, law enforcement, international business, organized crime, sex trafficking, firearms or anything else for that matter. I'm just writing for fun and I think sharing it with you guys is both rewarding and entertaining. If this story isn't for you, I completely understand. Thanks for stopping by!_

_**Added for further clarification 2/18/15:** Yes there will be some romantic underpinnings to the plot, but this is not a story I would categorize as a 'romance'. I know there is no clear way to say it, so read at your own risk. But I really, really hope you decide to take that risk. :-)_

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"Please have a seat, Agent Swan."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, and settled gingerly onto the stiff blue chair.

"I'll be introducing you to your partner in a minute. He's running a bit behind schedule. But while I have you here we might as well go over a few things."

Bella sat with a blank notebook on her knee and a mechanical pencil poised and ready to take notes. As far as she could tell, she was the only new graduate at this field station to be put on an assignment so quickly. She was curious and excited, but also a bit nervous.

Special Agent in Charge Mahardy settled into his chair and leaned back until it creaked in protest. He evaluated her silently for several seconds before giving a small nod as if he had made a decision about how to proceed.

"You had top marks in academics. Firearms, too. You weren't the most athletic female in your class, but you were far from being the worst. I had the opportunity to review your application, and I must say I was impressed. Not everyone who grows up with parents in law enforcement maintains such a clear and determined goal of following in their footsteps. Too many are jaded and embittered. But make no mistake, the assignment you have been chosen for will test that conviction. I'll go into more of our reasons for your selection when Agent Masen arrives. For now, I just want to be absolutely certain of your commitment."

"You have it, sir."

"I'm sure you think so now. But I'm about to throw you to the wolves. In less than two weeks you will be submerged in such filth and horror that you may find it hard to believe it's real. It is. And you and your partner are going to find a way to bring it to an end. This may be the toughest job that has ever crossed my desk. If it weren't for certain physical requirements I would never give it to a green recruit. However, I trust Agent Masen implicitly. He's the best we have. I suggest you listen to him. Actually, that's not a suggestion. Do everything he says. And, no matter where this task takes you, trust him. The success of your mission could depend on it."

Bella shivered. The conversation had taken a very intimidating turn. She still knew absolutely nothing except her partner's name and that she would have two weeks to prepare. She was completely in the dark about the mission objective and parameters. With nothing else to write down, she scratched out:

2 weeks

Trust Masen - Follow his lead

She glanced up and swallowed hard. Special Agent in Charge Mahardy's eyes were an intense, icy blue. They seemed to slice right through her brave front to expose the untempered core beneath. She squirmed inside but maintained eye contact until there was a sharp rap at the door.

"Enter," Mahardy called.

Bella looked up and stifled a gasp. The man who sauntered in and slouched into the chair beside her looked nothing like an FBI agent. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, handsome, but also somewhat unapproachable. He wore torn jeans, a stained long-sleeved t-shirt and a black leather jacket. His boots were black, but dirty and scuffed gray-brown in many places. His face was unshaven, and his hair was an unruly reddish-brown mess.

He looked her up and down sharply, not in the manner of a man checking out a woman, but more like a hunter assessing his equipment. His look was dispassionate, methodical and swift. She felt herself sitting up a bit straighter, stiffening her shoulders and planting her heels more firmly in the tightly woven carpet.

"What's the story, Rick?"

"First let me introduce you to your partner, Agent Isabella Swan."

Agent Masen met her eyes briefly and gave her a terse nod in greeting.

"I'm going to outline the mission in a bit more detail than you are used to as this is Agent Swan's first assignment." Masen's eyes narrowed but he kept his mouth shut. "Our intelligence team has been following dead end trails for the past year and a half and finally got a break in our investigation of a particularly well entrenched human trafficking ring."

Mahardy slid identical cream colored folders across his desk. Bella and Agent Masen each took one and flipped them open to the first page. Bella looked down at a photo of a dark haired girl.

"Mary Alice Brandon was reported missing last September. She was walking home from the mall in Biloxi, Mississippi where she had lunch with friends. She never reached her house. The local police treated it like a runaway case, at first. However, on March 19th of this year the older sister of one of her classmates saw her exiting a hotel in Palm Beach, Florida. She was in the company of a middle aged man. When this acquaintance called out to her, the man shoved her into the waiting vehicle, shut the door and they left rapidly. Several witnesses agreed that she looked scared and did not seem to leave willingly, although many other witnesses claimed they noticed nothing untoward about the incident. The family pushed for an investigation into the owner of the vehicle. The results were a pile of false leads and dead ends. The license plates were fake. The hotel reservation and payment were under a false name. According to the hotel staff, there was never a girl with him at all. His name was the only one on the reservation."

"Have the Biloxi police reopened the investigation?" Bella asked.

"Yes, they have. And that's the reason why we've gotten this far. Her disappearance was not an isolated incident. And, once other cases were reopened, a pattern emerged. Over the last six years there have been at least seventeen similar occurrences along that 120 mile stretch of I-10."

Bella flipped through the pages seeing more faces. All young. All beautiful. All between the ages of fourteen and nineteen at the time of their disappearance. Horror pooled in her stomach like the murky waters of a Mississippi swamp. If the sighting in March was real, Mary Alice Brandon could still be alive, being held against her will. And if the data she was reading was correct, there were possibly dozens of other girls in her situation. Nightmare images flashed through her mind. She wanted to find them and save them. She wanted justice for their lost freedom. For their pain. For their stolen innocence.

Bella blinked back the emotions that threatened to make her cry. She had prepared for this type of case. However, the reality was far, far worse than any case study. Those stories were in the past, picked out to be analyzed, dissected and discussed in a classroom setting. This was real. This was now. Bella closed the folder and looked up into her superior's steely gaze.

"Tell me what we need to do to find them," she said. Her voice only quavered at the very end.

Agent Masen's eyes flicked to her face and then back to the packet of information in his lap. His eyes scanned each page rapidly, collecting and storing names, faces, dates and witness accounts.

"You are the next victim."

Bella blinked but didn't react in any other way. She waited for more details. She wanted to know the entire plan.

"Agent Masen, your new name is Cullen. Edward Cullen is a very successful business man relocating from Seattle to Florida. He is arriving with money, a personal recommendation from a respected connection, and his prize possession – Marie. She has no last name. She has no identity. He acquired her from an associate who was strapped for cash and needed to settle some debts. Edward Cullen is considering selling her, for the right price. But only if he can find a suitable replacement. You see, Edward Cullen prefers blondes and he's heard that the Volturi family can help him find exactly what he wants." Their superior looked back and forth between them making sure they were keeping up.

"All the information you need is in those folders. You have fourteen days to prepare. I want to see you both in here at 9 AM on Thursday with a list of everything you need between now and the 18th to make this happen. Agent Masen, I need to speak with you in private for a minute."

"Wait, is this why you chose me? Because I look young enough to be one of them?"

The realization was a blow to her pride. There was nothing exceptional about looking five years younger than your actual age. She was struggling not to feel insulted. If she was playing a captive, how could she possibly help save those girls?

"You're the right agent for the job. Don't ever doubt that. Just make it true."

Bella wasn't too dazed to realize she was being dismissed. She nodded and stood up, stacking her notepad and the documents together. With a strange pressure climbing up her throat, she left the office and pulled the door shut behind her. It wasn't until she reached her desk that she realized her new partner hadn't said a single word to her. And she was supposed to follow his lead? How? By reading his mind?

She thought back to the single-minded way he had reviewed the dossier. Bella took a long drink from her water bottle and settled down at her desk to commit the contents of the folder to memory. If she was going to be any use to these girls, she needed her emotions under control and her wits about her.

Fifteen minutes later, she was feeling dizzy and her head ached. This was harder than cramming for the tests back at Quantico. There she could at least guess at the format of the evaluation and prepare accordingly. All she could tell so far was that she was going to be forced to pose as a sex slave to allow Agent Masen, AKA Edward Cullen, to infiltrate the Volturi crime syndicate. According to the plan as she read it, she was little more than a prop. That didn't sit well with her at all.

With a fine-tip red pen, Bella began scribbling furiously in between the lines and in the margins, brainstorming every possible way that her position could be used to increase their intelligence on the history and extent of the human trafficking operation and the players involved. One thing she could tell right off the bat, these people had money and power in abundance. SAC Mahardy hadn't said it, but her instincts told her it was the truth - if they messed up or were caught, it wasn't just the success of the mission on the line. Their lives were too.

"Agent Swan, can you join me in Conference Room 3?"

Bella looked up in surprise, startled out of her musings by the abrupt interruption.

"Absolutely," she replied to her new partner, jumping to her feet.

"And bring your notes."

Bella looked down and was shocked to see almost all the available white space was filled with red scribbles. She gathered up the scattered sheets, stuffed them back into the folder and hurried after his retreating form.

She sat down at the conference table and waited for him to speak. His folder lay on the table and he had one foot up on the chair beside him. His posture was almost languid, but she didn't mistake it for relaxed. His frame positively hummed with potential energy, as if he could blast to his feet and subdue any threat without blinking.

"My name is Edward Cullen."

"Um. . . Hello, Edward."

"And you are Marie." Bella shifted uncomfortably. She thought they were going to discuss the case, their plans and strategies. He was already immersing himself in the character. The tyrant. The slave owner. She swallowed heavily and nodded.

"You have no family. No home. No possessions. No rights. You belong to me."

"I. . ."

"You belong to me."

"Yes. . ." she whispered, intimidated and confused.

He dropped his booted foot to the ground with a thud and stood up. He towered over her, his face a mask of fierce aggression. "And you will obey everything I say at all times. Or else I will hurt you in ways you could never imagine, not even in the depths of your most psychotic nightmares. Am I clear?"

He never raised his voice. He never raised his hand. However, the barely contained violence of his presence sucked all the air from her lungs and Bella gasped and cowered before him.

They hung in suspended animation for several seconds before he plopped back down into his chair with a satisfied grin. "Excellent. Okay, let's get to work."

Bella shook her head violently as if shedding the vestiges of a powerful spell. The man before her kicked his feet up on the chipped and coffee-stained table, pulled his copy of the mission file into his lap and started whistling under his breath.

She didn't trust herself to speak or even move.

"I saw you made a bunch of notes. Let's go over them together and see if we can turn this crock of shit into a real plan before these desk jockeys manage to get us both killed."

Bella pinched the inside of her left thigh sharply to snap herself back to the present, flipped open her folder and started outlining her ideas. She was hesitant at first, wondering when the cruel businessman would make another appearance, but with Agent Masen's gentle prodding she gained confidence and their strategy quickly took shape.

She jumped when he slapped the table with both hands and interrupted her. "Enough. I'm starving. Let's get something to eat and pick up again after dinner. My place or yours?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you want to stay at my place or yours?"

"Are you crazy?"

"Nope. Just short on time. Two weeks. Hah! Mahardy is a fucking clown. We're going to be living together for the foreseeable future. I'd rather get to know you on our terms, not while we're sitting under a microscope."

"Um, okay? My place then, I guess."

"Perfect. Lead the way."

Bella headed back to her desk to log out of her computer and gather her things. Her life and career were about to take a very sharp corner. She just hoped she could keep her seat.

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**A/N:** Please note, I am not a member of the FBI, nor do I know anybody who is. There will be errors. Just roll with it. I plan to. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

Bella was carrying a neat black briefcase. Agent Masen had a canvas rucksack that showed as much wear as the rest of him. His appearance and the brief display of aggression in the conference room made it difficult to picture him as the polished business man the job called for. Choosing what felt like the wisest course, she kept her mouth shut.

Her 'partner' ghosted along beside her as they passed through the security checkpoint and out to the parking garage. She cleared her throat uncomfortably when he followed her all the way to her silver Dodge Neon and stood next to the passenger side door.

"Um, do you need a ride to your car?"

"I don't have a car."

"Oh. Um, okay. So you need a ride?"

"It's less conspicuous than me running along beside you."

"Yeah. Right. Of course." Bella unlocked the car and slid behind the wheel, feeling very self-conscious about the pile of gum wrappers and empty water bottles she habitually tossed on the floor in front of the other seat. "Sorry about the mess," she said, cringing as he lowered himself into the car beside her.

The cabin settled much lower than she was used to with his added weight. With his rucksack wedged between his feet, his knees almost pressing against the dashboard and his shoulders filling the space beside her, he seemed huge. To quell her rising discomfort, Bella tried to initiate conversation as they drove.

"How did you get to work today if you didn't drive?"

"I walked," he said simply as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"So, you have an apartment close by? Here in the city?"

"I have a place I stay when I'm in town."

Bella nodded, at a loss for how else to respond. He didn't offer up any details. She chose a slightly different approach.

"Special Agent in Charge Mahardy seems to have a lot of respect for you."

"Hmm."

"Have you worked for him for a long time?"

"I don't work for Mahardy."

"Oh. . ."

Bella bit her lip and tapped the steering wheel along with the rhythm of the turn signal. They were caught in the congestion that typically swirled around the capital. When they reached Highway 29 she headed north toward Silver Spring, chancing occasional glances at the man beside her. His face gave nothing away. He seemed to stare straight ahead, yet still gave off the impression that he was watching everything all the time, even her. Especially her.

"You said you were hungry. Where do you want to eat?"

"Anywhere works."

"Do you have a preference?"

"No."

Bella was getting irritated. She decided to put his sanguine attitude to the test and pulled into a strip mall off the highway. Agent Masen followed her into the Ethiopian cafe without hesitation. Bella already knew what she planned to order so she took a seat near the back wall facing the entrance. She thought she saw her partner's lip twitch with the hint of a smile.

His eyes scanned the room quickly as he took the seat opposite her. When the young serving girl came to take their order, Bella asked for lentils with chicken and injera.

"I'll have the same," Masen said, with a gently cheerful voice and a sweet smile.

The girl grinned, her dark eyes lighting up as she took his menu. "I'll be right back with some waters."

Bella marveled at the transformation. The man before her had morphed into another personality altogether. Smiling, fidgeting with his silverware, one foot tapping along to the music. . . he looked like just another guy grabbing an early dinner with his girlfriend. She saw the way his eyes catalogued the details of their surroundings and every person who entered or exited, but to anyone else he probably blended in perfectly.

She mirrored his attitude, hooking one ankle around her chair leg and propping her chin up with her elbow on the table. She leaned in slightly as she said, "So, roomie, do we need to stop by the store or get anything on the way home?"

"Naw, I've got everything I need. We can go shopping on Thursday."

It wasn't hard to read between the lines. Once they presented their requisitions request to SAC Mahardy, they'd be gathering all the props and equipment necessary. Until then, working on their plan and fleshing out their characters was the key. They carried on making innocuous small talk, but somehow Bella still learned more about him in that public conversation over lentils and flatbread than she had with direct questions in the privacy of her car. The most important conclusion she reached was that the FBI agent she was eating dinner with was the most intelligent, controlled, observant and dangerous human being she had ever encountered. If he was even human, that is. After all, he had inhaled three times as much food as her, and she was uncomfortably full by the time they settled their bill.

Bella hadn't spared a lot of thought for the logistics of entertaining a guest for two weeks in a 500 square foot studio apartment. Just like her car, her apartment was small but serviceable and barely fit within her meager budget. It was also very much 'lived in'. Her bed was unmade, she had dirty dishes in the sink, tampon wrappers in the bathroom waste bin and, while it didn't show, she regularly drank straight from the milk jug. There was no room for a large man of indeterminate age and habits to stay there for one night, let alone 2 weeks. None of that seemed to bother him. He walked directly across to the window, scanned the street and surrounding buildings, shut the blinds and plopped himself down onto the couch.

Bella stood by uncomfortably as he removed his boots, slung his jacket over the armrest and began pulling objects from his rucksack.

"Dinner was great. Thanks," he commented as he carried a bundle of electronics to the table by the kitchenette.

"You're welcome," she replied.

He sat down at the dinette set, cleared her unopened mail to the side and started setting up his laptop, wireless transmitter and a few other gadgets she could not immediately identify.

"What are you doing?" Curious, Bella gingerly sat down in the second chair.

"Patching the holes in our cover IDs."

"I don't have a cover ID. No last name, no history. I thought that was the point."

"Everybody has a history. You were born, weren't you? The Volturi are careful. They aren't going to buy the 'girl without a past' bullshit. That just screams low-budget FBI sting operation. No. Edward Cullen couldn't find your past, but they can and they will. We'll drop a few bread crumbs here and there. Nothing that a novice like him would find. Just enough to satisfy the pros."

"Bread crumbs? Wouldn't they just question my previous owner?"

"They would if they could find him. He's dead."

"What?" she gasped, sitting up straight in surprise.

"His debts caught up to him, even with my generous cash payment for your fine young ass."

"Did you. . ."

"No, we didn't kill him. We're the FBI, not the CIA."

"Then who?"

"Who knows? Who cares? He was the lowest kind of scum. But he also has the perfect past for what we're trying to accomplish; dealings in pharmaceuticals, prostitution, gambling, etcetera. Our deceased friend did most of our work for us."

"Then what are you trying to do?"

"We're looking for a doppelganger."

"I'm so confused."

"Come on over here," he beckoned with a tilt of his head.

Bella pulled her chair around to his side of the table and sat back down. Over his shoulder she saw he was clicking rapidly through a gallery of photos. They were all girls, brunettes and all quite young.

"Who are these kids?"

"Missing girls from all over the country. I've got it narrowed down to six, wait, no, five. That one was found. Or her remains were. Okay. Hmm. The eyes are right. . . Promising."

Realization came slowly to Bella, followed closely by a strong wave of indignation. "You can't claim I'm one of these girls. That's identity th-"

"Identity theft? Of course it is. So, if she was found today she would be twenty years old, approximately your height and build. Excellent."

"We can't. . ."

"Can't what? We won't claim you are Bree Tanner, we'll just include enough tiny hints in your story that the Volturi sniffers will come to that conclusion on their own and hopefully stop digging."

"What about her? She has a family, a past. She could be dead for all we know."

"Or worse. She could have been picked up by exactly the sort of animals we're trying to put behind bars. One thing you're going to learn real quick, Agent Swan. . . Don't ever toss out a card without first evaluating what it's worth to the game. We may never know how or why Bree Tanner went missing, but her name, her face and her history are here for the taking. They could very well be critical to keeping our cover intact."

SAC Mahardy had told her to trust him. It didn't sit well with her, but Agent Masen's arguments were sound. When he told her to learn everything she could about the missing girl, her family and her hometown, Bella nodded her compliance.

"What about your cover?"

"I've been building fake identities and planting clues and covers since you were in grade school. Don't worry about it."

"What about the man who's supposed to give you the introduction?"

"He's good. Correction, he's not good. He's as dirty as they come. Covering for me is part of his plea bargain. Don't worry about it."

That was the second time he had told her not to worry about it. She knew she was ignorant and inexperienced but his constant dismissal of her questions was beyond irritating. She bit her lip hard to keep her mouth shut and stared at the constellation of pin-holes in the wall above the table.

Agent Masen stopped typing and clicking, turned in his seat and looked directly into her eyes. When he spoke, his words were clipped and emotionless, cutting straight to the core of her discomfort.

"There are two of us. Just us. We don't have a team of computer whizzes and tech heads or whip smart college kids scrambling around behind the scenes to build two entire lives from scratch with all the hints and nuances that are necessary to withstand any sort of scrutiny. Subtle is better anyway. So, we're scattering breadcrumbs and hoping to God their own imaginations will fill in the blanks. I'm going in as a secretive, careful, international businessman. But I'm also a bit too proud, overconfident. I haven't covered my tracks as well as I should have. You're a girl who was kidnapped at the age of nine. People have all but forgotten you. You've grown up in captivity. Eleven years of changing hands when the price is right, stashed away in back rooms and secluded vacation homes like the dirty little secret you are. That's what they expect to find and that's what they'll see. Or traces of it at least. Now, Agent Swan, we have a little more than two days before we have to present this to Mahardy and beg for the scraps necessary to make it all work. Are you on board, or not?"

"I. . ." Looking into his eyes she was stunned speechless. He was intensity personified. She looked back at the wall then down at her hands clenched tightly in her lap. "I want to help those girls," she finally said, her voice little more than a whisper.

"So do I. And we will. Those motherfuckers won't have any idea what hit them."

Her eyes met his and she smiled timidly. His answering grin was as ferocious as a wolf's, lips pulled back from his teeth and a feral look in his eyes. She wondered again how old he was, and why he had chosen this life.

Bella used her own laptop to learn everything there was to know about the long lost Bree Tanner then reworked her own cover profile with details she felt would fit with Bree's possible journey. It was sickening to consider what might have been and what actually was for thousands of missing kids, both boys and girls. Not for the first time she found herself battling nausea and tears. She sniffled lightly and looked up to see Agent Masen watching her.

"That's enough for tonight." He shut down his equipment and packed it away into his olive-toned backpack. "I've had a long week, so I'm going to shower and get some sleep. Don't worry about going into the office tomorrow. This is our show now. Be dressed and ready to run at 4:30."

Bella was startled when he stood and loosened his belt. She blushed and averted her eyes as he undressed and rolled his clothes into a tight bundle which he stuffed into the bag. He took his toothbrush, washcloth and soap into the bathroom and started the shower. Bella kept her jaw shut by sheer force of will. He had walked right by her completely naked. His body was lean and strong with muscles that seemed to bunch and stretch beneath the skin like thick, twisting cables. His skin was criss-crossed with white scars and several puckered knots that looked suspiciously like knife and bullet wounds. Nothing about her day or her new partner had been easy to swallow, so his complete lack of modesty shouldn't have shocked her, but it still sent her head reeling.

Despite his suggestion, Bella couldn't go to bed yet. Her stomach was still too full for comfort, even if she could have slept with all the thoughts whirring through her head. Rubbing her temples, she popped a couple of ibuprofen, chugged half a glass of water and changed into her pajamas. She kept her eyes down as she hung a clean towel from the rail in the bathroom for her guest, brushed her teeth and braided her hair for bed. The mirror was fogged and the air was too heavy to breathe, or maybe it was the presence of a naked man behind her shower curtain making her nervous, but she skipped the rest of her bedtime routine. She set her alarm for 4:15, ran through her security measures, then took the case file to bed with her. Bella didn't feel like she could sleep yet, but she knew she could study.

She felt Agent Masen's eyes on her as he left the bathroom and saw the pillow and blankets she had set on the couch for him. He didn't say a word. At 10:00 she finally turned out her light and closed her eyes. Across the darkened room, she listened to his breathing; slow, deep and even. Whether he was awake or asleep, she could not tell, but he was there and that was oddly comforting.

* * *

_A/N: Are you with Bella or Masen on the question of using pieces of Bree's life to flesh out her cover? Is this a moral line they can't cross or should necessity rule the moment?_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks for all the great feedback! It's wonderful to have the support since this story is somewhat of a departure from the romance themed fics I've posted up 'til now._

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Bella's eyes popped open and she was instantly alert. Her clock read 4:13. She felt like she had been transported back to training where she used to automatically wake up minutes before the scheduled time. Somehow her body was primed to spring from her bunk while her fellow trainees were still stumbling and grumbling for more sleep.

She disabled the alarm and swung her legs over the side of her bed. Agent Masen's profile was outlined against the gray-blue rectangle of the window. His hands were on his hips and he was staring out between the blinds, at what she didn't know.

Trusting the darkness to hide her, Bella quickly changed into shorts, a sports bra and a tank top. She turned on the lamp beside her bed, casting a warm glow throughout the small apartment. Her partner turned around. He was already dressed in a t-shirt and shorts with running shoes on his feet. Bella greeted him with a soft 'good morning' which he returned, then she hurriedly used the bathroom, brushed her teeth and pulled on her own shoes and socks. At 4:28 they were jogging down the steps to the sidewalk.

"Do you run much?"

"Um, not really. A bit. When I have to."

"What's your mile pace?"

"A little over 8 minutes," she replied then confessed, "Well, more like 8:30."

"8:30. Okay, three miles, let's go."

He set off at once and Bella scrambled to catch up before falling into step beside him. Her muscles were slow to warm up but after a couple blocks her breathing and stride settled into a familiar rhythm. She had to push herself a bit, but it was a manageable pace. Their feet pounded out a steady beat and she sang songs in her head to keep her mind off the discomfort of running.

SAC Mahardy's assessment of her athleticism was pretty accurate. She was not a jock, but she wasn't a complete embarrassment either. Agent Masen made the perfect running partner. He kept a steady pace, almost as consistent as a metronome, and never attempted to start a conversation. He just called out directions several paces before each turn. She was a bit winded and her muscles were fatigued when they completed the loop back to her apartment, but she felt pretty good.

"Nice run."

"Yeah, it was. Thanks. I haven't taken that route before. How far did we go?"

"Three miles."

"Wait. . . how. . . did you measure it?"

His reply was a mocking grin.

"Fine, I'll take your word for it."

"You're learning. You could go faster."

"Probably. If I had to."

"Excellent. Tomorrow, 8:20." Bella paused in her stretching and stared open-mouthed as he turned away and took the stairs two at a time.

"Huh," she said to herself. There wasn't much else to say.

She finished her stretches and climbed the stairs to her apartment expecting to find him waiting impatiently for her to unlock the door. The hallway was empty. She let herself in and saw Agent Masen standing at her stove stirring a pot of oatmeal. She rolled her eyes. Either he had made himself a duplicate key or he picked the lock. It made little difference. He was the ranking agent, so he was calling the shots. It was her job to follow along.

As simple as that was in theory, she was very annoyed when she stepped out of the bathroom 30 minutes later. She had taken the time to shower and shave, then dressed in clean, comfortable clothes. A quick glance around the room told her she was completely alone.

The apartment was empty. The couch was straightened, the blankets folded and stacked on one side. A clean bowl and spoon were sitting in the drying rack beside the sink, and there was a covered pot on the stove. Everything else was exactly as she had left it 24 hours ago. He was gone, he had taken his bag, and there was no note in sight.

Bella pursed her lips and helped herself to a glass of milk and the rest of the oatmeal. Then she paced the apartment and tried to imagine what she was supposed to do. At 6 o'clock she received a text.

Be outside at 9. Dress sexy.

Sexy? At 9 AM? What did that even mean?

Bella gritted her teeth to keep her temper under control and got to work tidying the apartment. She washed the dishes, swept the floor, sorted her laundry and cleared away the piles of junk mail and magazines that had accumulated on the table. Then she moved things around a bit so the area near the couch and TV was free of clutter.

At 8:30 she started getting changed. She didn't own many clothes you could call sexy, but she did have a comfortable pair of jeans that she thought flattered her, and her blue blouse was a little lower cut than her other shirts. She left her hair down, put on a bit of makeup and transferred her wallet and phone to her nicest purse.

She was outside and walking toward her car when a new black sedan pulled up. She did a double take when she recognized the driver.

"I thought you didn't own a car," she muttered as she climbed into the passenger seat of the shiny Lexus.

"I thought I told you to dress sexy."

"This is sexy!" she retorted a bit hotly.

His raised eyebrow was the only response she got. She folded her arms across her chest feeling a bit annoyed and very much in the dark. She was fast realizing that nothing was straightforward or simple with Agent Masen. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, taking in the subtle changes in his appearance.

His hair was carelessly tousled and shiny with product. He hadn't shaved, but he had trimmed and groomed his facial hair down to rough stubble. He was dressed in dark wash jeans and a button down shirt, open at the collar and rolled to the elbows. He looked good. Really good. He looked like he belonged in this car cruising through the nicer parts of town. He was even wearing a big, expensive looking, square-faced watch.

He met her perusal with a crooked smirk. "Sexy."

"Right," she laughed, finally catching up. "Our look for the day. So where did you get this car?"

"It's not stolen."

"But it's not yours."

He shrugged.

"Right," she said again. "So, do I get to hear what we're doing today?"

"Research."

"Okay…?"

"And window shopping."

"Are we pricing out our supplies and equipment?"

"Among other things."

When they pulled into the mall parking lot and he twined his fingers through hers she followed his lead, slipping into the younger girlfriend role he had created for her. She only balked when she realized he was pulling her into a lingerie shop. Always in character, he laughed a little and pulled her into a full-body hug. With her face buried in his chest, she trembled. The blood was whooshing in her ears. Playing a sex slave was all well and good in theory, but she was now realizing what that was going to entail. Lingerie. Nudity. Touching. Possibly much, much more.

"Shhh, baby. It's okay. I don't have to go in with you. I mean, I think you're hot no matter what. I know we thought this would be a fun idea, but I can wait outside if you want." He crooned into her ear, soft enough to sound intimate, but loud enough that the sales assistant overheard.

Bella stepped back a few inches and looked up into his face. His expression was one of sweetness and patience. But his eyes. . . his eyes challenged her. She straightened a little and gave a small nod.

"It's okay. It was my idea, I just got a little embarrassed, I guess," she mumbled with her cheeks burning.

"Oh, you guys are so cute. Don't be shy, honey. Come on over. Let me get your measurements and then the two of you can just walk around. Take your time. See what catches your eye."

Pressing her hands against her cheeks to cool her blush, Bella stepped back from Masen's embrace. He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged as if to say, 'I'm not really comfortable either, but I'll follow your lead.' She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and said hello to the other woman.

"Oh, well aren't you the cutest thing!" she gushed, grabbing both of Bella's hands and leading her back to the curtained fitting area. Bella shot a panicked look over her shoulder, but her partner just grinned and winked. He never slipped out of character, even for a second, but somehow his eyes still carried that shrewd awareness she had noticed the first moment she met him.

An hour later they left the store with Bella's exact measurements and several items on hold at the register. He looped his thumb through her belt loop and pulled her close, walking beside her with his arm around her and his fingers curved around her hip.

"You hungry?" he asked softly, kissing her temple.

"A little. You buying?"

"What kind of a boyfriend would I be if I made you pay?"

"A progressive one."

"Do I look progressive? I'm one step away from neanderthal. Big watch, facial hair, thick-soled shoes. No, I pay for my girl."

"You are the most metrosexual neanderthal I've ever met," she said.

He laughed out loud and heads turned. She saw what they saw. He was tall, handsome, and wrapped around a pretty, young woman. He had money and confidence to spare. Bella realized the genius of his current disguise. Everyone saw them, but nobody would have pegged them for FBI agents prepping for a mission. They were just a normal couple taking some time off work and hitting the mall on a Tuesday morning.

Bella hadn't been on a date since before training. She hadn't had a boyfriend since her junior year of college. It felt good to be paired up, even if it was only an act. Pretty soon she was going to be immersed in a dark, dark world, and her only ally was going to be playing the part of her worst nightmare. It was going to be scary and probably pretty lonely. She threw herself into the role of the day, sucking up the happy glow of their faux relationship. While she knew it was only make believe, but it still felt pretty awesome.

"What else do we need to check out today? Are we shopping for you, too?" They were back in the car after finishing an early lunch at the mall's food court.

"I'm covered. Don't worry about it."

"God, I hate it when you say that."

"Sure you do. Fine, how about this? I have my measurements. They haven't changed in over 15 years. I also have contacts who can outfit me with anything I need from designer suits to Kevlar with less than a day's notice. I'm covered. Don't worry about it."

"You are really full of yourself."

He shrugged.

"If we aren't shopping for you, what are we doing?"

"Research."

"Into. . ."

"We're stepping into the enemy's lair very soon. It would be good to know what we'll be up against."

She couldn't argue with that logic. However, all the knowledge in the world wouldn't drown the fears and doubts churning in her gut.


	4. Chapter 4

**This fic was featured on Tarbecca's weekly Fic Dive on A Different Forest. Thanks Tarbecca and all you campers who chose to take the leap. I'm so glad you're here!**

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Bella looked around and realized they were driving down Pennsylvania Avenue. Agent Masen pulled into a reserved spot between two government vehicles and hopped out. She was quick to follow. She had only been to the FBI headquarters building a handful of times and didn't know her way around.

At the security checkpoint, they both held out their identification and Bella was a little surprised when they were waved on by without passing through the normal screening process. She jogged a few steps to catch up with her partner's longer strides, committing their route to memory. She practiced her observation skills as they walked, trying to pick out the unique details that would clue her in to what each of the people they passed was doing and where they were going. She was distracted by the squeak of a file cart and she almost ran into Masen's back when he stopped at a bank of elevators.

He gave her a sardonic smirk and she blushed in embarrassment. He wasn't playing 'boyfriend' any more, but the way he moved and the clothes he was wearing made it hard for her to think of him as her superior. It was an even greater challenge than the day before when he was dressed in scruffy clothes and a leather jacket.

"Daydreaming?"

"Deducing."

"Aha. So are we going up or down, Sherlock?"

"Down."

"Lucky guess." His voice held a tinge of sarcasm.

"There was a man entering the elevator as we came around the corner. The top light was illuminated but you didn't break stride or ask him to hold the door. So, down."

"Hmm. Right. Lucky guess."

That time it sounded almost like a compliment. She bit her lip and looked down at her shoes to stop herself from smiling.

In the elevator, he swiped his card and held the 5 and the 1 down simultaneously. Bella had never seen anyone do that before. The doors closed and they began their descent. When the doors opened again they stepped out into a hallway just like any other; industrial grade tile, neutral paint, bland artwork. Half a step behind, Bella followed him down the hallway until they came to a non-descript wooden door with a brass plaque and the number 219B. He knocked twice and then waited.

"Who are we here to see?"

"A friend."

"A good friend?"

"A useful one."

The door opened and they were beckoned inside. Bella schooled her features to a blank expression to hide her shock. Agent Masen's 'friend' was a babe. Straight nose, full lips, wide blue eyes, clear skin, shampoo commercial hair and a body most women had to pay tens of thousands of dollars for. She was dressed in a conservative charcoal suit over a white blouse, but that did nothing to tone down her obvious beauty.

"Tanya, meet my partner, Agent Isabella Swan. Ms. Swan, Ms. Tanya Filipovna is one of the sharpest intelligence officers around. She's also the subject matter expert on the Volturi. Her intuition is unmatched."

Bella grasped her cool hand in a firm handshake. "Nice to meet you."

"You, too. Follow me. I have these two computers set up for your use. I've got most of the relevant files pulled up for you and I'm working on one more profile which I should have ready within the hour. Let me know if you need anything else."

"If the information is available by computer why do we have to come down here to see it?" Bella asked.

Agent Masen offered her a short explanation. "We store it electronically to facilitate analysis and to save space, but these computers are part of a closed circuit. Most of the information isn't too sensitive by itself, but when it's all together in one place it paints a pretty clear portrait of several people of significance. Tanya is a specialist. This room and her dedicated servers are a nexus of information that has already brought down some very highly placed individuals. It would be unwise to make her work accessible to anyone outside of the missions she works to support."

"Missions like ours?"

"Exactly."

"So, it's like a puzzle box. We're looking at puzzle pieces she has collected because she feels they might fit together and impact the mission?"

"Pretty much."

"And we couldn't get this information through the regular archives and databases?"

"Not sorted or formatted in a concise or very useful manner, no."

"What other projects is she working on?"

"One thing at a time, rookie. We've got our orders. Let's just focus on saving our little corner of the world."

Chastened, Bella turned her focus to the plain text list of files and images Tanya had pulled up for them to review. It was mostly a collection of individual profiles. Bella read page after page of data about people suspected of turning to the Volturi to obtain young people for personal use or those trying to get paid for supplying the endless demand. It was beyond revolting to see the amount of money these men, and even a few women, were willing pay for human flesh. In many cases the transactions were just questionable and unproven. In others, the FBI had gathered enough evidence to take down the suspects and put them away for life, but were holding back in hopes of gaining more information with an eye to eventually dismantling the entire web. There was also an alarming number of foreign nationals involved, their comings and goings monitored but unimpeded.

Bella's body was shaking with tension as she sat and read. While they schemed and planned and prepared, real lives were actively being destroyed. Human beings were being subjected to horrific physical and emotional torture. A sense of great responsibility settled over her shoulders. This wasn't just about Mary Alice Brandon. She was only a single thread in the far-reaching web of terror. Tanya had unveiled an entire culture of depredation and abuse. This was a multi-million dollar underground industry steeped in evil. Hedonism taken too far. Kidnapping, rape, torture, murder. . . it was all there before her.

Attached to each profile was a photo or a collection of photos. The criminals looked like normal people. Some were quite attractive. Not one of them displayed horns, fangs, red eyes or any other outward symbol of their corrupt nature. Bella was becoming more frightened the longer she read.

Noticeably missing from the collection was anyone who could be considered the kingpin. As she read, the image of the web became more and more solid in her mind's eye, but it was a web without a spider. The master of the network was nothing more than a ghost; a criminal mastermind composed of phantasmagoric shadows and reflections.

Bella rolled her chair back a few inches and closed her eyes, trying to drink in and digest the flood of information. The enemy's lair indeed. Mahardy was throwing them to the wolves, just like he said.

Bella was subdued as they left the building hours later. They were out near the street before she realized they had passed their car a while ago.

"Wait. Where are we going?"

"Back to your place."

"But the c-"

"Not ours. We're riding the bus."

"Oh," she said, completely confused.

They reached the correct stop, or so she assumed, and boarded the next bus without incident 11 minutes later. Without any sort of warning, Agent Masen slipped right back into boyfriend mode, paying her fare and ushering her to a seat near the middle of the bus with his hand on her lower back. Following his cues she smiled up at him as they sat, twined her fingers with his and looked out the window as if she was interested in the passing cars. She was actually observing the other riders in the reflection on the glass. Her focus was disrupted by a faint buzzing sound beside her.

"Just a sec. I need to get this call," Masen said, pulling his hand back and digging in his pocket for his phone.

She smiled and rested her hand on his thigh instead, still casually intimate and possessive. The girl across the aisle was checking him out and it only felt natural to give her a challenging look. When the girl looked down sheepishly, she turned her own eyes forward and focused her attention on the one-sided conversation beside her.

"The basics. . . yeah. . . No, two of those is good, but make them nice. . . Alone. . . of course. . Four days. . . yeah, yeah, I know. . . That's fine. Great. I'll be in touch."

There wasn't much she could glean, except that the caller must have been one of his 'suppliers' and they would have a tight turn around once they received authorization for their expenditures from Mahardy. She was trying to imagine what they could get away with taking on a plane from Seattle to Florida. Clothes, a weapon or two if they were packed and declared properly, some personal effects. It wouldn't give them much to work with in Florida, not unless they could turn somebody who worked on the fringes. Or maybe they could create a local stash in advance and Masen would have an opportunity to collect equipment as they needed it. What could they use anyway? Wires and recorders were too bulky and sure to be discovered. The Volturi would probably have their rooms bugged and every word or gesture would be analyzed until they were considered 'clean' or 'trustworthy'. What did that even mean among criminals? Was there some sort of human-trafficking-rapist-murderer's code of conduct?

Agent Masen lifted his hip to stuff his phone back into his jeans then draped his arm around her shoulder. Bella leaned in a little and pulled out her own phone, opening a free game demo to give herself something to do. Everyone else on the bus displayed different levels of boredom or preoccupation. She tried to relax into the rhythm of a routine afternoon commute. She felt Masen's fingers toying with her hair and glanced up at him. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back against the top of the seat. His expression was one of complete contentment.

Bella was a bit lost since the bus took a different route than her normal path home. Maybe that was the point. Agent Masen seemed to avoid routines, consistency and any sort of predictable behavior. She was also starting to get used to his near-omniscience, so it was no big surprise that he pulled the cord to request the next stop with his eyes still shut. Looking around, Bella realized they were less than three blocks from her apartment. The sudden growl from her stomach told her it was also long past time to eat.

Masen chuckled under his breath and took her hand again as they stood and exited the bus. They walked down the sidewalk together at a casual pace, swinging their joined hands a little.

"Is your first name really Edward?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

His reply was a sidelong glance.

"So, what do I call you? I can't very well be wandering around the streets of DC for the next two weeks referring to you by your job title."

"Masen is fine."

"Hmm."

"Does that bother you?"

"You know my full name." She worked to keep her tone even and unaffected.

"And a lot more, besides." He shrugged his shoulders matter-of-factly.

"How is that fair?" It bothered her that he knew so much and she was in the dark about everything - how to work, what to expect, and even who she was working alongside.

"How does it matter?"

"You're aggravating."

"You'll get used to it."

"Yeah, right," she muttered.

"Or not." They walked in silence for almost a block. "I'll be gone most of tomorrow."

"Okay. What should I be doing?" Outwardly they were a couple, but he was still the boss dictating their next moves.

"You can spend more time in the crypt, if you feel up to it. Remember what I said about discarding things before you know their value. That is more true with intelligence than anything else. We'll only be carrying in whatever is in our heads, so glean as much as you can while you can. I'll give you Tanya's contact info. And I'll also need you to type up a compelling argument for our itemized expenditures. Check your e-mail. I sent you a list to start with. I'll be adding details and more pricing throughout the day tomorrow, so stay tuned."

"Sounds like fun."

"Not at all. That's why you're the one doing it, rookie."

"How sweet. I'm so glad you're not really my boyfriend."

"You have no idea." His voice was lower and a bit gruff. She eyed him quizzically but they had reached her apartment and he motioned her to take the stairs ahead of him.

Her partner was a constant puzzle. His expressions and mannerisms were a complex maze of shadows, fronts and misdirection. The only consistent thing about him was his eyes. . . His searching, watching, inscrutable eyes. She wanted answers and she wanted them yesterday. However, hour by hour it was becoming more apparent that she was not going to have that satisfaction. She was already getting used to the feeling of disappointment.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Your responses to this story have made me so happy. And look! Another chapter! So crazy how that works. . . ._

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Wednesday started with another early morning, but instead of running at 4:30, Masen had her drive them to a local high school track at closer to 5.

"What are we doing here?"

"Running."

"I see that. Three miles again?"

"Yep."

"Why on a track?"

"You were not confident in the distance of our route yesterday."

"Well, I was just curious how you knew how far. . ."

"Three miles on a track is 12 laps plus about 28 meters. 8:20 per mile means we'll be done in 25 minutes. Let's go. I'm hungry."

He set off running from a point three quarters of the way down the straight stretch. Bella tripped, caught herself, and ran hard to catch up. Day 1 of running with Agent Masen hadn't been so bad. Day 2 was hell. She hadn't slept well the night before, and her muscles were stiff and burned with each stride. Not only that, the 10 second per mile increase in speed felt a lot faster than it sounded.

By their fourth lap, Bella was struggling to keep up. Masen glanced over his shoulder at her a couple times but his pace didn't waver in the slightest. By the sixth lap she was cursing her big mouth. Running circles on a track was tedious and made the distance seem so much longer than running on sidewalks. At the start of their third mile, her legs no longer hurt. They just felt rubbery like the muscles were pumped full of glue. Little by little her partner pulled away as her strides became increasingly irregular and breathing got more difficult.

Bella gritted her teeth and tried to come up with a song to distract herself. When she wasn't thinking so hard about running and breathing, it usually helped. However, all that came to mind were names and faces, snapshots of the data she had been studying for the last two days. She felt panic setting in when she realized Masen was almost 30 meters ahead of her. She was determined not to fall back any further. She drove herself harder. Pain was stabbing through her left side, radiating from a spot behind her ribs. She pumped her arms and dug her heels into the rubber surface of the track, forcing her fatigued muscles to extend and contract just a little harder. A little faster.

It was the final lap. She knew she could catch up. She fixed her eyes on the figure ahead of her; dark hair, sweat-stained shirt, muscular legs churning relentlessly around the turn. Bella reached deep for the strength she knew she had within her, drawing closer and closer to him. On the final stretch, she finally pulled alongside her partner. A part of her, the part that was proud and competitive, pushed her to go all out and sprint for the finish line. But the conscious and controlled part, the disciplined agent, remembered the expectation he had laid out at the beginning: Three miles. 8:20 per mile. It wasn't a race.

Side by side, they came down the final stretch, crossing the line simultaneously. Bella's legs wobbled and she almost tripped again, but she stayed on her feet, put her hands behind her head and forced herself to walk. Step by trembling step she regained her balance and muscle control, sucking the humid air deep into her lungs. On the far side of the curve she turned around and started walking back, keeping to the outside of the track. A few other runners and joggers were moving around the oval and she watched them curiously as she recovered her wind. What was wrong with them? Did they actually enjoy running?

Masen was waiting for her at the point where they had first entered the track. "Nice run."

"No it wasn't. It sucked."

"Did you run three miles?"

"Yes."

"At the required pace?"

"Sure, if you average it out. As long as we can trust your mysterious internal pedometer."

His eyebrows lowered and his lip twitched but he didn't respond to her baiting. "Mission accomplished. Good run. Simple as that."

"Are you trying to teach me something?"

"Are you willing to learn?"

"Yeah. . . I mean, yes. I want to learn."

"Then, yes. I am. Now, let's eat."

Bella felt a little green at the idea of food, but by the time they pulled into the parking lot by her building her stomach was growling. After running two days in a row, Bella wanted something more than oatmeal to eat. She washed her hands and pulled eggs, butter, cheese and bacon from the fridge. The kitchenette was nowhere near big enough for two people so she was glad Masen didn't hover.

He disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes then came back out, stripped off his sweaty running clothes and pulled on the wrinkled, stained shirt and jeans he was wearing the first day she met him. Bella wasn't trying to watch him but there were no walls and it was impossible not to see him. It made no sense that he chose to change in the middle of the room when there was a perfectly good lock on the bathroom door.

As he dressed, she microwaved the bacon, toasted bread, scrambled the eggs in the pan with butter and shredded cheese then loaded up two plates and brought them to the table along with two glasses of ice water. Masen sat down across from her with a grunt of thanks, or at least that's how she chose to interpret it. He began shoveling the food into his mouth so fast she felt a little uncomfortable watching him.

"In a hurry?"

"Yep."

"You going out like that?"

"Yeah. Why, do I stink?"

"Yes, actually. You kind of do." She scrunched her nose a bit and smirked. "You look downright disreputable."

"That's the idea."

"Hmm. You don't like explaining yourself."

"It's a waste of time."

"But you'll tell me everything I need to know?"

"Check your email. Gotta run. Thanks for breakfast."

Bella looked down at his plate as he wiped the last chunks of eggs up with a wedge of toast and crammed it in his mouth, then threw back the rest of his water and got up. He shoved his arms into his jacket, pulled a poorly stitched beanie down over his hair and slung his rucksack over one shoulder. He threw her a mocking two-finger salute and slipped out the door. She heard the lock click behind him. So he did have a key.

Bella left her half-eaten breakfast and crept to the window. Between the cracks of the blinds she watched Masen jump down the last couple steps and set off across the street at a steady run. She doubted he was meeting up with legitimate, law abiding citizens looking like that. She was also pretty certain he had access to another vehicle close by. Running all over the city was very conspicuous.

Her appetite was gone, but she forced herself to finish her food and tidy up the apartment before she showered and dressed for the day. Masen had recommended that she visit Tanya again, but he had also told her repeatedly to check her e-mail. She set up her laptop and logged into the secure server. Sure enough, there were several emails from accounts she didn't recognize.

The first few emails contained simple instructions on standard formatting along with a couple of templates to be used when submitting their written request for funding. Each one was sent from a different address, but the contents were obviously all from Agent Masen.

The most recent email contained a long list of expense items and their projected costs. Her mouth hung open. $125,000 for a car? First class airline tickets, $16,485 on clothes for him, $4,760 on lingerie and clothes for her, makeup and spa services? Was he out of his mind? Bella scrolled down the list and blanched when she saw his requirements for multiple bank accounts in the name of Edward Cullen with 7-figure balances. Did Masen really believe the government was going to set him up as a millionaire playboy? Based on what she was reading, he not only believed it, he expected it. She didn't get to the good stuff until the last page. Phones, cameras, bugs and sensors. . . there were enough gadgets and gizmos on the list to make a Radio Shack employee self combust. She was feeling a little shell shocked.

Bella checked the time and figured she could work on the cover letter, forms and mission plan revisions until mid morning, head into town and dig through Tanya's archives for a few hours, and still make it home again before the afternoon rush hour started. She put a pot of coffee on, cracked her knuckles and started typing. It was going to take some pretty fancy wording to convince Mahardy that even half of the things on Masen's list were necessary.

She had a rough draft almost ready when a chill climbed up her spine and across her shoulders. One thing was very conspicuously missing from the list - weapons. . . She hadn't seen a single one, not even a knife. They were going into the enemy's territory armed with nothing but what they carried in their heads, just like Masen had warned her.

Driving into town was a welcome break. However, hours spent in front of one of Tanya's computer screens left her brain a muddle of names and images that she could barely make sense of. She returned home mentally and emotionally oversaturated. Her brain felt like a sponge that had absorbed all it could and now sat on the counter in a puddle of water, bloated and leaking from every pore.

She fixed herself a light dinner and sank wearily into a chair before her laptop, forcing herself to sift through the new text and email updates Masen had sent over the last several hours, adding and editing lines in the draft documents. By the time Bella heard a key turn in the lock, it was dark outside, her neck was stiff, her eyes were burning, and her leg muscles were cramping from the combination of too much running followed by too much sitting. She eyed Masen suspiciously as he stepped in and shut the door behind him. He had smelled pretty bad that morning. Now he looked and smelled like he had been wrestling with a wild animal in a dumpster, then hosed himself off with malt liquor.

"You need a shower."

"In a minute."

"No. Now. And burn those clothes."

"I can't. They're irreplaceable."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Trust me. They are a necessary evil. But if you get me a couple garbage bags we can at least contain the problem."

Bella hopped off her chair. The smell had already filled the tiny apartment and she was working hard to keep her dinner down. She barely flinched when Masen stripped down to bare skin in the entryway, balling his clothes up like before and shoving them into the bag she held open for him.

"You're right. I need a shower."

She nodded emphatically, holding her breath as she tied a knot in the black garbage bag, stuffed it into a second bag and tied that, too. She let the air out with a relieved whoosh, turned on the kitchen fan and the bathroom fan then cracked the window. Masen climbed into the shower, laughing at her the whole time.

Ten minutes later he came out of the bathroom drying his hair roughly with the towel she had loaned him. Bella looked at him frankly for the first time, her eyes traveling from his greenish gray ones, over his muscular frame, down his legs and back up again. She had seen many men in various stages of nudity, she had even slept with a few of them, but she had never seen anyone as comfortable in their skin as Agent Masen. She had also never seen anyone who wore the evidence of a horrific and painful past so blatantly, almost defiantly.

Standing only a few paces away from her, he held her gaze. One eyebrow lifted as if to ask her for permission to carry on. She shrugged one shoulder and turned back to her laptop.

"You're not going to ask me about my scars?"

"You won't tell me your first name or show me where you live. Why would you share something so personal?"

"Who said it was personal?" he asked flatly.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously. I've been shot more than once. Business, not pleasure. Nothing personal about that."

"Were you whipped or caned, too?"

"Something like that."

"There you go again. Why are you always so cryptic and secretive?"

"On Monday I offered to let you stay at my place. How is that being secretive?"

"Because you knew I would say no."

"You're learning," he said with a light laugh.

"Stop. My head hurts. Why don't you put some clothes on and come over here to review what I wrote."

He dressed in athletic shorts and a tank top before walking over to stand behind her chair. With one hand braced against the wall and the other resting on her shoulder, he read through the letter and reviewed the forms, stopping her occasionally to make minor changes.

"Are they really going to give you all this stuff?"

"It doesn't hurt to ask, does it?"

"It just seems like a lot."

"Don't worry. Most of it will be funneled right back into the coffers when we're done."

"Don't worry, don't worry. Right," she muttered as she saved their changes.

"Nice work." He patted her shoulder, walked over to the fridge and pulled out a cold water bottle. "How did things go in the crypt? Learn anything interesting?"

"I pretty much just reread everything I read yesterday. I don't know if anyone or anything really stood out for me, but I'm retaining more of the details. I think I'd like to go back again before we head out."

"I agree. We'll do that. Well, it's pretty late and we've got a big meeting tomorrow. E-mail those docs to me and get some sleep. And we'll run at 5 o'clock again. 3 miles. 8:15." With that he settled onto the couch and shut his eyes.

He hadn't said which address to send it to, so she cc'd all of them. Bella rubbed her face roughly. 9 miles in three days. It was official - Agent Masen was a sadist.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Well, the general consensus is that running sucks. (With a few exceptions. . .) Bella has a very sympathetic following! :)_

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At 9:02 on Thursday morning, they were ushered into Special Agent in Charge Mahardy's office by the man himself.

"Sit, sit. So, what do you two have for me?"

Bella began speaking, taking the lead as they had agreed on the drive there, outlining their strategy in a fair amount of detail. They would fly up to Seattle to make sure they were seen at Edward's former city before traveling to Florida together. Once in Palm Beach, they would check into a 5 star hotel. They would be in character from the moment they stepped out of Edward Cullen's car. Marie would be quiet, intimidated and well behaved when seen in public, but she would spend a majority of her time hidden away in their rooms. Edward Cullen would be more visible, reaching out to both established and new local business contacts to develop his cover identity as an independent international business consultant. Among those calls would be a request to meet with the Volturi contact they had been given.

"Our guess is we'll be under surveillance anywhere from a few days to two weeks before they make contact," Bella wrapped up and waited for her superior's response. It was exactly what Masen predicted.

"You're going to be living in a hotel for 2 weeks just waiting for them to make the first move?"

"They aren't going to show us anything or even acknowledge our presence until they've done their homework. We need them to feel like they have the upper hand. They'll put more stock in how we behave and interact on our own turf than any performance we may put on for their benefit."

Mahardy looked between Bella and Masen. Masen nodded his agreement.

"Fine, show me your expense projections. That hotel stay better be in there. And no running up the room service bill with champagne and caviar."

"Don't worry. I detest caviar," Masen said with a mocking smile.

He sat back a bit in his chair, hands folded across his middle and one ankle across the opposite knee. He looked incredibly bored. Bella couldn't mimic his posture, but she tried for her own version of patient confidence. She hooked one ankle behind the other and rested her hands on the armrests of her chair.

Mahardy grunted and looked over the packet Bella handed him.

"You're not getting more than a hundred grand to buy a car."

"Then give me one out of impound."

"I don't have an inventory of luxury sport cars to play with. Be realistic."

"There's a black BMW M6 convertible in the impound lot at the Seattle station. Give me that."

Mahardy leaned his forearm on his desk with his hand in a white-knuckled fist and levelled an impatient glare at Agent Masen. "We hold cars until investigations are complete. We don't just take them and play with them whenever we feel like it. If whoever we confiscated it from gets off we give it back. Private citizens don't really appreciate it when the government takes their prized possessions joyriding while they're in the clink."

"He won't care."

"Oh really? Why not?"

"He's dead."

Mahardy's face drained of color. Bella's head whipped around to look at her partner. His lips were twisted up in an almost diabolical smirk.

"And you would know that. . . how?"

Masen lowered his foot to the ground and leaned forward, his forearms on his knees and his hands clasped loosely together. "Because I shot him, Rick."

"Christ, man. What's wrong with you? This is the FBI, not the CIA!" Mahardy rubbed his hands across his scalp and cupped the back of his neck, eyes on the ceiling as if praying for patience.

Bella couldn't help the giggle that slipped out from between her lips. It was like all the emotions and tension from the last few days were spilling out and boiling over. Hadn't Masen said the exact same thing to her two days ago? Only he was claiming he hadn't killed a man. She wasn't surprised by this newest revelation. Maybe she was even relieved. It was nice to know one of them would have the guts to take a life if it came down to it. She wasn't certain she could.

Mahardy looked at her with wide eyes and she bit her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing again. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Masen shake his head. He was grinning and not bothering to hide it.

"Christ. . ." Mahardy muttered again. "Fine. I'll make a call and see about the car. Airfare, no problem. We'll book the tickets. Just tell me the date and flight number. Hmm. Yes. . . yes. . . wait, four grand on lingerie? I bought my wife something for Valentine's day and it was under $50. This is absurd."

"Edward Cullen eats lobster bisque out of hand-glazed italian bowls, not styrofoam take-out containers. You have no taste, Mahardy. You're a cheap bastard without a single romantic bone in your body. I don't expect you to understand."

"Fuck you, Masen."

"It stays. Be glad I didn't ask for more."

Bella watched the interchange, completely fascinated by the verbal sparring between the two men. Sometimes Mahardy objected and Masen gave in. Other times he dug in his heels and refused to budge. In the end, almost an hour and a half later, they walked out with about forty percent of their listed items reduced or crossed out completely. Bella was demoralized and nervous about facing Masen alone. She didn't know how he would take having their resources decimated so thoroughly. She had wracked her brain for every way of arguing their need for each item, but in the end it hadn't been enough.

When they got back to her car she climbed in and started the engine without looking at her partner. She almost jumped out of her skin when he let out an exuberant whoop.

"You're a natural, Swan. I'm impressed."

"Impressed? How are we going to make this work now? SAC Mahardy thinks our plan is a joke, and he won't even give us the resources we need to do that much!"

"I'll bet that right there is exactly what won him over. Your conviction is very compelling. Has anybody ever told you that you would make an excellent lawyer?"

"Stop speaking in code and tell me why you're so happy."

"I'm happy because I've never gotten so much out of that tight ass son of a bitch. I should have been working with a partner all along. Young pretty thing with an earnest air and a heart of gold. Worth your weight in gold. This is gonna be good. God, I'm starving. Let's get something to eat."

Bella was half turned in the driver's seat staring at her partner. He was grinning, amped, almost manic in his excitement. She had never expected to see such a display of emotion out of him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. You're hungry. Let's eat." She pulled out of the parking lot shaking her head.

Agent Masen's good mood persisted through lunch which consisted of carry-out pizza and a six pack of beer. He ate as he typed, texted and made calls, obviously exhilarated to have the purse strings loosened. Bella ate two slices of pizza while she listened and watched over his shoulder. He seemed to communicate within his network of vendors and contacts with an indecipherable shorthand of numbers and abbreviations that left her brain swimming.

When it became apparent that he would keep eating until there was nothing left in the box but a smear of sauce and cheese, Bella wrapped up a couple of slices and put them in the fridge to snack on next day. If it weren't for his obvious fitness, she would have pegged him as a glutton. Instead she was waffling between a diagnosis of an intestinal parasite or an off-the-charts metabolic rate.

With the food gone, Masen focused his attention exclusively on his laptop and cell phone, his fingers moving so quickly across the keys that the sounds blurred into a continuous clattering hum. Bella tidied up a bit then sat down on the couch, closed her eyes and tested her recall, forcing her mind to slow down, observe and process the images of the last several days.

Time and time again, her inner vision was drawn to the picture of a girl with long, almost black hair, finely shaped, angular features, eyes too large and lips just a tiny bit too full for the delicate face. She wasn't just pretty, she was stunning. Exotic. And somewhere out there she was being held against her will. Mary Alice Brandon. . . the key that could unlock the entire puzzle. They needed to find her and help her before it was too late.

Bella's meditative state was broken by a loud belch. She glared over her shoulder at her partner who was leaning back in his chair with his arms stretched high above his head.

"Excuse you."

"Hmm. Thanks. Well, that's all we can do today. Four days. Gotta crank. Let's go shoot something."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Get changed. Jeans and a t-shirt is fine."

"Okay. . ." Bella said. His manic mood had calmed somewhat, but Masen was still moving more quickly than she was used to. He had packed away his mobile office and was standing at the door dressed in jeans and a black hoodie with his rucksack over one shoulder before she had even found her socks and shoes.

"Aren't you too hot?"

"A bit," he said easily as if personal comfort was irrelevant.

"Whatever. Let's go." Bella grabbed her keys and walked out the door, letting Masen close and lock it behind them.

In the car he gave her directions to their destination and then sat back in his seat with his face hidden in the shadow of his hood. Bella rolled her eyes. She couldn't tell if this was his act for the night of if the new excitable, energetic Agent Masen was the real one.

When they reached the small arms firing range in Rockville, Bella pulled into the lot and parked beside a new navy blue pick up truck with an insane suspension lift. It was an indoor range. She trailed behind Masen as he entered the building and checked in at the front desk.

"Max, how you been, man?"

"Good, good. Got any lanes open?"

"Sure thing. How long ya need it?"

"Meh, 2 hours. Give or take."

"That long, huh? And who's this you got with you?" the man asked, peering around Masen to see Bella.

'Max' stepped aside to introduce Bella, his next door neighbor. She'd had a fright coming home from school and was considering buying a gun for personal protection. The man behind the counter nodded along to his customer's explanation, interjecting helpful and encouraging comments here and there. Bella let them talk until they finally decided on a couple of guns for her to rent and try out.

"And I got four pieces in the vault. Can I grab 'em? And ear protection. Forgot mine. Need a pair for the girl, too. A few boxes of the 9mm, the 45's, heck just give me an assortment of ammo," he said, fumbling in his wallet for cash.

Bella stood back with her hands in her pockets, entertained by Masen's helpful, rough shod, kindly neighbor-with-a-gun-hobby act. Twenty minutes later they were in their own lane with more guns and ammo than she had ever seen in one place at one time outside of training. With the door shut behind them, Masen dropped the act. His shoulders squared off, his chin came up, his features took on the now-familiar look of intense focus.

"Okay, now. You know range rules from training. It's no different here. If it's loaded, it's pointed at the floor or down range. Please don't shoot me in the foot. Finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot. Ear protection at all times. Which one do you want first?"

"Could you maybe explain why we're here? I'm not bringing a gun. It's not like I can stuff a Beretta in my bra. And who the hell is Max?"

Masen flipped open his battered leather wallet and showed her his ID - Maxwell Turnpike. His wallet also held more than $100 in crumpled cash, a tobacco stained carry card and an old lotto ticket.

"You're so thorough it's kind of terrifying."

He smirked a bit as he laid out the guns in order of size. "We're here so you can get comfortable with a variety of weapons. You won't have a gun. Neither will I. But that doesn't mean we won't have access to them."

"Really? Can someone get in and plant one somewhere for us?"

"Don't be stupid. No, I'm referring to them. They'll have armed guards. We'll work on disarming techniques tomorrow. Don't worry. You're going to kick ass."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I share your confidence in my ass kicking capabilities."

"Ms. Swan, if you find yourself going for a gun, it's because you're fighting for your life. I've been watching you, and I have complete confidence that in a life or death situation, you will be the one who comes out on top. You're smart, you're observant, you keep your wits about you and you don't give up easily."

"Right. Life or death. Perfect. . . So, just pick one?"

"You're going to fire them all tonight. Pick whichever one you want to try first."

Bella chewed on her lower lip as she looked over the row of guns. Some were flat black, others shiny bluish steel, all of them were lethal. She ran her fingers over the squared barrel of the Colt pistol, hefted the 44 Magnum revolver in her right hand, and laughed a little as she held the compact purple and black Ruger in her palm. "I kind of doubt I'm going to come across one of these."

"You never know."

"So don't discard. Got it. I'll try this one first."

Masen walked her through the features of the smaller gun, showing her how to load and unload with the practiced ease of an instructor. She tried it herself a couple times, then with their ear protection in place, Bella emptied the gun into the target at 25 feet.

"How does it feet?"

"Lighter. And the wider grip gave me more control. I barely felt it kick."

"Good. Next."

Bella shot each of the guns in turn until her forearms were shaking and her eyes blurred. The kick from the 44 Magnum almost knocked her off her feet and Masen stood behind her, hands supporting her elbows, giving her the stability she needed to empty every chamber. She was exhausted but exhilarated as she took off her earmuffs and smiled up at her partner.

"Feeling good?"

"Yeah. Real good."

"Excellent. Put those back on. I'm gonna get rid of the rest of this ammo."

Bella replaced her ear protection, stood back and watched. Masen ran the target to the end of the lane, then with hands moving almost too fast to see, he loaded and emptied the guns one after another. She didn't bother watching the target - she was pretty sure he was cutting Mr. Paper Man's heart and brain out with surgical precision. What held her attention was the subtle shift in stance and posture as he changed weapons. Controlled, dominating, focused destruction. He was in perfect communion with the weapon in his hand. He was the weapon.

Humbled and intimidated more than she was willing to admit, Bella helped him clean up the area, then they carried the guns out to clean and return them. They worked together silently, clearing, dismantling and cleaning each part. The feeling of inferiority curled through her stomach and pulled on her shoulders, but with the monotonous task, the muffled, metallic sounds and the smells of the range, Bella found herself calming down considerably.

She knew she was new, but she was neither useless nor helpless. Agent Masen had expressed his appreciation and even admiration of her contributions several times today. It wasn't a one man show. According to him, her participation was more than important; it was critical to the entire mission. And she trusted him. Somehow, standing together with guns in their hands, existing within that dichotomy of vulnerability and power, somehow her mind and body had decided to trust him.

Bella looked up from the warm metal in her hands to see Masen watching her. His hands never slowed their fluid motions as he smiled, and for once she saw that it reached his eyes.

* * *

_A/N: Ever been to a gun range? I'm a terrible shot myself, but it is definitely more fun than bowling!_


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: There's no possible way I will keep this pace. . . chores are piling up around me. Yes, my kids do like to wear clean clothes. However, as long as the words keep coming, I'll keeping writing/posting as quickly as I have the chapters edited and ready to go. Thanks for all your support of this story. Agent Masen gives you a fist bump._

* * *

Bella was finally getting used to the early morning runs. On Friday morning, the faster pace was grueling, but she managed not to fall behind. Agent Masen had her doing push ups, crunches and chin ups after they completed their three mile circuit around the neighborhood. Her muscles burned but she felt strong, like her heart and lungs were doing their job more efficiently than they ever had before. She could tell that her body was producing more endorphins in response to her increased activity and it felt incredible.

Masen smiled a lot that morning. They returned to Tanya's office and looked through the files together, sharing observations and trading theories about possible patterns. Bella was impressed by Masen's ability to recall specific details like travel itineraries and names that popped up in multiple places. By lunch time her mental map of the Volturi network was much more detailed, with clear lines running between certain business, political, financial and criminal entities.

"There's something else we're going to have to work on. We will almost certainly meet many of these people in person. You cannot react as if there is any level of recognition. Major emotions are easy to mimic. Micro-expressions reflecting more complex thoughts and emotions are harder to simulate and control. They are based in deeply ingrained instincts and can often project thoughts you would rather keep hidden. We'll practice in the mirror some time."

"Disarming drills and drama tutoring. The recruiter never said anything about them," Bella laughed.

"You're special."

"In my generation that is rarely a compliment."

"Or maybe it's a rare compliment," he replied. His eyes were fixed on his computer screen but the warm humor in his voice was almost tangible.

"Thank you. For the compliments and for the lessons."

"It's all about survival, rookie. Can't have you blowing our cover."

Bella let out an exaggerated sigh. "Just when I thought the overbearing taskmaster was warming up to me, you have to say something like that."

"What are you kids giggling about?" Tanya asked as she pulled up a chair beside them.

"Giggling? I'm not sure if I can really imagine Agent Masen giggling."

"It's all relative, Agent Swan. A smile for him is equivalent to outright laughter for the average human being." Agent Tanya Filipovna was eyeing her shrewdly. It made her uncomfortable.

"He laughs," Bella replied hesitantly, a bit confused.

"He does?" Tanya turned to him, her eyebrows raised. "You do?"

"As entertaining as it is to have you ladies discussing me and my vocal variations, I've got an appointment to keep and I need a ride back to Ms. Swan's place to collect some things."

"Right. Sure. Let me know when you're ready to go," Bella said, looking back and forth between the two older agents. Some unspoken communication had passed between them, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. Tanya stood up and excused herself. Bella watched Masen, but he was silent now, engrossed in his computer display. Ten minutes later they were packing up and saying goodbye.

"If I come across anything else of interest, I'll contact you."

"I appreciate that. Thanks, Tanya. Take care," he said.

"You, too. Both of you."

Bella felt Tanya's gaze on them as the left the small office. Something had changed. After their training session at the firing range, it had almost felt like they were becoming friends. She had only known Agent Masen for a few days but she felt comfortable with him. Speaking or silent, running or sitting still, his presence was. . . solid, reassuring, real. She still felt that way, but there was more distance now, like a veil hung between them.

They stopped for sandwiches on the way home. Masen was quiet and withdrawn compared to how he had been that morning. He wasn't as stiff or intimidating as he had been at the beginning of the week, but there was definitely more restraint in his facial expressions and conversation.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, toying with her straw.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I haven't seen you smile for the last hour."

"What do I have to smile about?" he asked seriously as he took another giant bite of his sandwich, chewed and swallowed, washing it down with iced tea.

"I have no idea. You just seem, I don't know, subdued or something. Never mind. It's stupid."

"No. It's not stupid. But I am curious. Who or what do you think could be responsible for 'subduing' me?"

"I have no clue."

"Hmm," he responded, giving nothing away.

They finished their lunch and headed back to her apartment. Bella watched with her nose wrinkled in distaste as Masen changed back into his filthy clothes and jacket.

"Are you going to tell me where you're going?"

"The Metro Union train station."

"I'm sorry. . . what? Why?"

"It's where I stay. When I'm in town. Sometimes."

"So what about my disarming training?"

"Check your email. We'll review when I get back. Do you have a rolling pin?"

"Do I look like Betty Crocker?" Bella stood with her hands on her hips. She had almost been having fun that morning. Something in their dynamic had shifted and she didn't like it.

Masen paused, looking her over as if he was actually considering her question. "Hardly."

"Well, what do you need a rolling pin for?"

"I need you to hit me. But I don't want you to mess up your hand."

"Would a frying pan do the trick?" She was being facetious. When Masen told her it would work fine her jaw dropped. "You don't actually want me to hit you. . ."

"Want? No. But I need you to. Just hard enough to leave a mark. I need it to heal within a week." He dug through her cabinets until he found the frying pan she used to cook eggs. "This will do."

He passed the pan to her and Bella stood awkwardly with it hanging loosely in her hand.

"I don't know about this. . ."

"Take a couple practice swings against this." He held a throw pillow up to the side of his face. "I want you to hit me right about here," he said, pointed to the left side of his jaw. "But keep the angle low. I don't want a cut. Choke up a bit on the handle. Good, Just like that. . . Again. . . Excellent. Now, take a swing," he said, dropping the pillow and keeping his eyes fixed on hers.

Bella swung as instructed, closing her eyes at the last second. The feeling of the frying pan striking his jaw was sickening. There was a thud and a crack and the sensation of flesh and bone being compressed and rebounding against the improvised weapon in her hands. She staggered back against the counter ,hugging the pan to her chest, waiting for Masen to yell or curse or react in a halfway human manner.

He moved his jaw experimentally back and forth, his fingers probing the rapidly swelling mark. "Perfect. Thanks. I'll be back by 8. We'll review your technique then." He saluted as he left, just as he had the other morning.

When she heard the lock click into place, she put the pan on the counter and sagged into one of the chairs at the dinette set. She felt like she had a handful of puzzle pieces in her hand, but very few connected to one another. The blank spaces between yawned like chasms at her feet. She rested her head in her hands, holding on tight to fight the dizzying rush of vertigo.

When was any of it going to start making sense?

* * *

_A/N: I'm betting that frying pan is no longer perfectly round. Thank you to Disney's 'Tangled' for inspiring this particular scene._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Thank you for all the offers of laundry assistance. I am happy to announce that it is all clean, folded and stacked up on the couch and coffee table. Small victories, right?_

* * *

Bella couldn't sit any more. Not right then. Not with the way her thoughts were careening around inside her skull. She stood and paced, barely taking six steps across her tiny apartment before being forced to turn around and go the other way.

Going undercover was simultaneously frightening and innervating. She was surprised by how much she was anticipating those first moments of stepping into her role as Marie. With the 18th fast approaching, her senses were on high alert. She was more in tune with her body; her breathing, her heart rate, the flex and stretch of muscles over bone, the flow of blood through her veins and the feel of fabric brushing against her skin. She saw more clearly, heard more distinctly. Her brain was capturing and cataloging data almost spontaneously. Bella barely recognized herself. Her mind and body had never functioned so. . . so. . . dynamically.

Studying throughout high school and college, she had viewed her academic goals as keys she needed to attain in order to unlock opportunities post-graduation. At the academy, her objective was simply to gain acceptance into the FBI. She had learned the standards and made it her mission to achieve marks as close to perfection as possible.

The stakes in this game, however, were far greater than anything she had ever fought for in her life. She felt ill-suited to being cast as Agent Masen's partner. He was her superior in all things. Disguise, intelligence gathering, athletics, combat. . . everything.

At the same time, she had some strengths that were perfectly suited to the role she would be playing. Those traits encompassed more than just gender and appearance. She was driven. She was a fighter. She knew she was intelligent, but she was also very aware of how much she had to learn and how little time they had to prepare. She was humble enough to listen and follow instructions. Among her classmates, humility was a rare trait, and she had seen how damaging misplaced pride could be. Most importantly, she was committed to their mission. For all her shortcomings, for all her inexperience and naivete, she was certain she was the best agent for the job.

What was it that SAC Mahardy had told her on day one? "You're the right agent for the job. Don't ever doubt that. Just make it true."

With a renewed sense of purpose and a clearer head, Bella sat down, logged into her e-mail and downloaded the videos Agent Masen had sent her. The first one was not at all what she had expected. She had visualized a martial arts instructor disarming a mock villain. Instead she was receiving an anatomy and physiology lesson, but it was a lesson unlike any she had experienced before.

The video broke down the human body into a collection of pressure points and vulnerabilities. Many she already knew; sensitive areas like the eyes, throat and groin. Others were revelatory. A jab to the armpit, a blow to the side of the knee, pressure points to weaken the arms or hands, and many, many more. The video revealed a collection of anatomical red zones where sudden or unexpected pressure could cause weakness, distraction or debilitating pain.

At the end of the 40 minute tutorial, Bella turned her laptop to face the room, stood in front of it and hit 'replay'. She located each of the locations on her own body as the video described them and how to exploit them, pausing periodically to back up and ensure she had it right. She took a short break for a snack then plunged right on to the next tutorial.

The second video was more like what she was originally expecting. She watched closely as the instructor demonstrated techniques for disarming an opponent who was larger and one who was smaller, sometimes with a knife and other times with a gun, assailants approaching from different angles, and even an unwitting opponent he took by surprise. Each scenario called for a different stance, a variety of skills and absolute commitment to the action. He moved swiftly, using a combination of holds, strikes and weight shifts to strip the weapon out of the other man's hands. Then, like a replay during a sporting event, the video broke it down in slow motion.

Bella imitated the maneuvers, imagining a faceless figure dressed in black, gloved hands gripping a variety of weapons as she pinned, twisted and wrenched them out of his grasp. Her focus was so intent that she could almost feel the flex of muscles, the twang of tendons and the grind of bones beneath her fingers. She was winded and sweating when she heard steps outside her door and a key turning in the lock.

Bella paused the video and spun around to face the door, automatically holding her breath before the imminent stench of Agent Masen's repellent get up. When the door opened her jaw dropped. No matter how open minded she was, he always managed to knock her off balance.

"What in the world have you been up to?"

"Shopping."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"I thought you would be happy. It's an improvement, right? I even had a shower before I came over."

Bella shook her head in disbelief. The man standing in her tiny apartment was not the man who had walked out the door six hours earlier. Dressed in a dark blue suit with a wide yellow tie and a big gold ring on his right hand, he looked like a news anchor or an insurance salesman. But he had changed more than just his clothing. His hair was slicked back and dyed dark brown. His eyes were brown, his cheeks were puffy and he carried an extra 20-30 pounds around his middle. The bruise on his clean-shaven jaw was barely visible through a layer of matte concealer.

"What did you do to yourself?"

"Don't look so put out. It's not permanent." Agent Masen unbuttoned his jacket and shirt to reveal a padded suit beneath. He grabbed a couple of hangers out of her closet and hung up his clothes, placing his polished dress shoes neatly alongside hers.

In an undershirt and boxer shorts he looked almost normal again, but the changes to his hair, eyes and the contours of his face were disturbing. Bella watched with wide eyes as he withdrew pink rubber oral inserts from behind his lower lip and inside his cheeks. He rinsed them in the bathroom sink and dropped them into a small plastic case then looked up with a grin.

"You still look terrified."

"I'm not surprised. That was quite possibly the creepiest thing I've ever seen."

He smirked and popped out his contacts, then dunked his head under the shower to wash out the brown dye. "There are two kinds of invisible," he explained as he towel dried his hair and wiped the water droplets from his face, neck and shoulders. "The things people don't see because they would rather not look, and the things they overlook because they are so commonplace that they aren't worthy of attention. In busy cities, bums and middle-aged businessmen are the simplest disguises ever. With the right tools, you can change your appearance, walk, scent and language. . . all in under 30 minutes."

"Speaking of your scent. . ."

"What, you don't like my cologne?"

"It's an improvement over earlier, but I honestly hope you don't wear it ever again."

"Don't worry. It's not really my thing. I see you've been watching the videos I sent. Learn anything interesting?"

"Sure. I've been practicing five different techniques for crushing a guy's testicles."

"I hope that's not all you got out of that," he said with a bark of laughter.

"I might have picked up a few tricks. But I need a practice dummy."

"I'm your man. Go get me a knife."

"Wait. . . what? A real knife?"

"Ms. Swan, I'm reasonably certain that the Volturi guards use actual knives. They may even sharpen them once in awhile. If you don't practice with one, you'll be at a disadvantage if you ever face one in real life. We'll go slow. Don't worry. I won't let you cut either one of us."

Her face went from cold to hot and back again. She went through the cutlery drawer in her kitchen and settled on a paring knife with a 3-inch blade. Masen moved the furniture back until they had a ten foot diameter clear space to work. She held the knife out to him hilt first and he eyed it skeptically.

"You don't have any real knives?"

"Um, no."

"Oh, well, it'll do for the basics. Stab me."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Stab me."

Bella reversed the knife in her hand and made a half-hearted jab towards her partner's stomach. He slapped her hand hard. The knife went skittering across the floor and slid under the cabinet.

"Ms. Swan, if you seriously think I'm going to buy that, you're far less intelligent than I thought you were. You couldn't hurt me if you wanted to. At least pay me the compliment of trying."

Bella held her throbbing hand to her chest, wiggling her fingers until the pain faded to a tingle. Feeling utterly humiliated, she crouched down and retrieved the knife from beneath the cabinet overhang. She wrapped her fingers around the handle and held it low by her hip, thinking back to one of the scenes from the video. The attacker had approached slowly, dropped to one knee, then stood up within arm's length of the instructor, bringing the blade up with an underhanded strike to dig beneath his ribs.

What if she actually cut him? What if her hand slipped and she cut herself?

She had seen Agent Masen in action at the gun range. He was fast. She knew he had been doing this kind of thing for years. Trust him, she told herself and took two slow steps forward.

She kept her eyes fixed on his, soft brown staring down flinty gray-green. When she was only a few feet away she sprang into motion, taking a rapid breath as she dropped into a lunge with her left foot leading, then propelled herself forward and up, her right hand swinging hard in an underhanded arc straight for the soft tissue below his left ribs.

It felt like she was experiencing a slow motion scene from a movie. Masen's knees bent slightly and his upper body tilted smoothly away from the blade's path. His hands came together, converging at her wrist. She brought her left hand over to grab his right forearm, still driving up with the force of her entire body. Rather than stopping her, he pulled her hand up further, the tip of the blade catching and slicing through the fabric of his undershirt. Using her own momentum against her, he forced her hand high above his shoulder. He twisted it counter clockwise as she rose up on her toes, spinning her off balance and into the circle of his arms. As she desperately tried to regain her footing he plucked the knife from her hand and released her with a gentle push.

Bella staggered and turned, her heart pounding like thunder in her chest. Her eyes were wide and her brain was racing, trying to process everything that had happened in those two seconds.

"How. . ."

"Drop and lunge. Not a lot of options," he explained matter-of-factly. "It's either a straight in attack with the knife, in which case you would have led with your shoulders and started four to six inches further back so the blade would enter my stomach at the highest velocity possible. Or, it's an upward strike like you chose. The fact that you dropped down so close to me made it immediately clear that you would strike beneath my ribs at a relatively shallow angle. I only had to move back a few inches to be in the clear. The force necessary for such an attack is immense, coming primarily from your legs as you surge up from the lunge. All your weight was on one foot. It took very little effort to pull you off balance. Very few people can maintain their grip on a weapon while falling. If this were a true combat scenario, this knife would have been planted in your throat." Masen paused, his eyes flat and calculating. "Now, Ms Swan, it's your turn."

Their roles were reversed. With the knife held casually in his right hand, he took a step toward her. Then another.

Bella swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry. Her eyes were glued to his. Trust. That word was beginning to take on new meaning.

* * *

_A/N: Yes, I ended the chapter there. Please don't throw things at me. Please. . . ?_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: It's Friday night and the kids are watching a movie, so I got to finish editing this chapter sooner than expected. Yay, me!_

* * *

When Bella woke up the next day, her muscles were screaming. Running wasn't such a big problem any more, but the calisthenics on Friday morning, followed by all the grappling with Masen last night, had pushed her body far beyond its normal limits.

Agent Masen had given them both the morning off from running. Bella looked over and saw his bulky shape still fast asleep on the couch. Levering herself stiffly off the bed, she gathered clothes for the day and stumbled into the bathroom to pee, brush her teeth and soak in a hot bath.

Twenty minutes later, her muscles were finally relaxing. She ran her fingers over her shin and cringed. It had been four days since she last took the time to shave. She lifted the drain plug, stood up and reached for her razor and shaving gel, then screamed when the door opened and Masen walked in. Bella dropped back into the tub with a splash, crossing her arms to cover her chest.

"What are you doing? Get out!"

"Why?"

"I'm in the bath! I'm naked! Don't you understand what a locked door means? It means stay out. What is your problem?"

"I'm not the one with the problem, Ms. Swan. I'm going to be seeing you naked a lot. Get used to it."

He stood at the sink in his boxers and ruined shirt, wet his toothbrush, added a blob of toothpaste and started brushing his teething, humming tunelessly at the back of his throat.

Bella sat there with her mouth hanging open in disbelief. He was right. Of course he was. But theoretical nudity was way easier to cope with than actually being trapped naked and cornered in a small, enclosed space with another person, especially someone like Agent Masen. She wasn't prepared for how vulnerable it made her feel.

Eight hours ago this man had been training her in hand-to-hand fighting with a kitchen knife and an unloaded pistol. They had wrestled with arms, legs and torsos twisting and striking against one another. They had even spent a significant amount of time tangled up on the floor. He had been the impersonal, professional instructor the entire time.

Sitting naked in her bath tub with him standing five feet away did not feel impersonal or professional. . . and it was downright terrifying.

He finished brushing, rinsed and spat in the sink, then washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. With his eyes shut, he reached behind him and grabbed his towel. He patted his face dry and then turned to look at her boldly.

"Would it be easier if I was naked, too?"

"God, no!"

"What would make this less challenging?"

"I don't. . . I have no. . . Oh, my God, please just get out. Give me a minute."

His eyes narrowed and he stared her down for several seconds before nodding, hanging up his towel and leaving the bathroom. "I'm gonna grab breakfast," he called out a few minutes later. "I'll be back in 15 minutes, then we need to talk. Oh, and don't shave."

Bella waited until she heard the apartment door shut behind him before scampering out of the now empty tub and wrapping herself tightly in her towel. She stood there shivering, trying to come to terms with her own weakness and fear. What was wrong with her? She had agreed to this. It was a little late to be having second thoughts.

Her clothes sat right where she had left them, neatly folded on the shelf above the toilet. She reached for them, feeling the very natural desire to cover herself in layers of fabric. Then, she pulled her hand back, thinking. The end result was a foregone conclusion. She was going to have to bare herself completely eventually. If she was honest with herself, she preferred that it was on her terms, in a place where she felt comfortable and safe. With her teeth clenched tight, Bella went back out into the main room and sat on the end of her bed, waiting for her partner to return.

It didn't take him long. Less than a quarter of an hour later the door swung open and Masen appeared carrying two coffees in a cardboard drink carrier and two take out boxes. He pushed the door shut, set the food on the table then turned to face her. He leaned back against the wall, crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his arms across his chest. His expression was placid but his eyes were stormy.

Waiting wasn't going to make it any easier. She knew that. Bella swallowed her nerves and stood, allowing the towel to loosen and fall to the floor. His eyes didn't waver, holding her gaze for several seconds before he dropped them gradually lower and lower. Bella's hands twitched at her sides but she kept her arms down and her chin up. He didn't linger on her breasts. In fact, he showed no visible reaction to any part of her. His perusal was as clinical and uninterested as his first examination of her in SAC Mahardy's office at the beginning of the week.

When his eyes returned to hers, Bella started breathing normally again. She didn't know what she had expected. Compliments? Jokes? Signs of interest or even arousal? She wasn't prepared for any of it, but the absence of any sort of reaction was strangely reassuring. Nothing had changed. He was her partner and she was his. Being around each other in various stages of nudity was part of the mission. That was it. Nothing more.

"Hashbrowns or skillet-fried potatoes?"

"I. . . uh. . . what?" Bella blinked at the sudden change of subject.

"With your eggs. Hashbrowns or fried potatoes?"

"Um, fried, please," she finally replied.

Masen turned back to the table and started setting out breakfast. Feeling slightly foolish, Bella hurried back to the bathroom, hung up her towel and got dressed.

Masen was already digging into his breakfast, so she sat across from him, squeezed three packets of ketchup over her eggs and potatoes and started eating. Between bites she snuck quick glances at her partner, but he was typing and reading on his phone. He barely looked up except to occasionally reach for his coffee to take another sip.

"What's on the docket for today?" she eventually asked.

"I have some running around to do. You have appointments with a spa this morning and later a makeup artist."

"I have appointments today? What time? And when were you planning to tell me about them?" Despite her best efforts, her annoyance managed to seep into her voice.

"10 o'clock for the first and 2:30 for the hair and makeup. And I just did," he replied in a preoccupied tone. He never looked up from his phone.

Bella swallowed the irritation that burned in her stomach. She had been so busy all week that knowing she would have an appointment at 10 am on Saturday really wouldn't have changed a thing. That didn't stop it from aggravating her that he hadn't mentioned them earlier. She resolutely ate a few more bites of her eggs, finished her coffee and tossed the containers into the garbage can. The bin was almost full, so she removed the liner, tied a knot and put a new bag in. When she returned to the unit after taking out the trash, Agent Masen was still working intently. It was barely after 8 o'clock, so she pulled out her mission file and notes, sat on the floor and studied while stretching her too tight muscles.

An hour passed in near silence. Bella quelled the urge to interrupt Masen's work until she realized she needed the address for her appointment soon if she was going to make it there in time. She put away her notes and stood. When she looked over at Masen he was watching her. He held out a sheet of paper torn from one of her notepads. On one side was a home address at the south end of the city for her 2:30 appointment. On the other side she found the name of the spa, its address, phone number and the list of services she would be getting. She blanched and looked up in outrage.

"Waxing! Seriously?"

"Yep."

"That's why I wasn't supposed to shave."

"I should have said something sooner."

"You think? Why do I need to do this now? We're not even supposed to be undercover for another week and a half."

"And how convenient that we'll need recommendations for a suitable location to do a touch up within a week of arriving."

Bella narrowed her eyes at him, willing him to smile or wink or give any other indication that he was enjoying himself at her expense. His face remained completely impassive.

"I thought we were going to talk," she said, desperate to elicit some sort of response from behind the wooden facade.

"I thought it would be necessary, but you took care of it adequately all on your own."

"Right. Of course," Bella said in a carefully controlled voice.

It was obvious that he had no intention of elaborating. Finally she turned on her heel, gathered her phone, keys and wallet then headed down to her car. If she didn't leave right away, she was bound to say or do something she would regret.

* * *

_A/N: How many of you would have lost your temper before now? I know that I would have bitched him out the very first day._


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Thank you, Ninkita! I'm going to rename you Eagle Eyes for seeing and correcting all my silly typos and punctuation errors._

* * *

The manicure and pedicure were relaxing.

The facial was tedious, but otherwise okay.

The waxing was everything she expected and more. So much more. It was pure misery. Stray hairs around her eyebrows, the hair on her upper lip, arms, legs, even the peach fuzz on her lower back was stripped away a few inches at a time. By the time the aesthetician was done with her she felt like her body had been scrubbed with sand paper from her hairline down. It was a blessed relief to learn she was only slated to have her bikini line waxed and trimmed, not a complete Brazilian. Thank God for small mercies.

"You really should wait a couple weeks after shaving to wax your legs and underarms. Come back in two weeks and we'll try again. It'll be soooo smooth. You'll love it!" the woman told her enthusiastically.

Bella tried to smile and thanked her stiffly. Getting dressed again and walking was far from comfortable. Carrying a small, conspicuously pink bag filled with creams, exfoliating scrubs, moisturizers and coupons for her 'next visit', Bella walked carefully back to her car and eased herself behind the wheel. Looking at the clock, she realized she had just enough time to go through a drive-through for lunch before heading to her next appointment.

Forty minutes later she pulled into the driveway of a cute rambler. The house had white siding, light blue shutters and a meticulously groomed front yard. There was a beige and brown camper parked alongside the house under a gray pop-up awning. She double-checked the address just to make sure, but unless Agent Masen had made a mistake, she was at the correct location.

Bella knocked on the door and stood waiting, glancing up and down the street to see if anyone was watching her. A couple of adolescent boys were shooting hoops three driveways over, and an older man was pushing an electric lawn mower around a yard across the street. From what she could see, the neighborhood was completely unremarkable.

The door opened and Bella blinked twice to force her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The man who greeted her was tall. Very tall. His shoulders, chest and arms hinted at past power and formidable strength now faded with age. His hair hung in straight sheets of silver, cut at a severe angle just below his sharp jaw. Dark, deep set eyes scanned her slowly before he took a step back and motioned for her to enter.

"Hi, I'm Be-"

"I know who you are," he cut her off with a voice as dry and brittle as grass in the heat of late summer. "And I know who sent you. No names here. No names but mine. You may call me Jacob."

He held out his hand and she shook it slowly. His fingers were long and slender, although his knuckles were slightly swollen with early signs of arthritis.

"Hello, Jacob," she spoke softly, instinctively matching his low, slow speech.

"You have come to learn."

"Umm, yes. I think. That's what I understand, at least. . ."

"Hmm. Our friend does not speak more than is necessary."

"Sometimes not even that much," she retorted with a wry smile.

"Ha ha. Yes. You know him well." His laugh was a breathy cough.

"Hardly. But I doubt many do."

"No. No. Not many do. But come. Follow me," he beckoned as he led her into the house. "We have a lot to do."

Bella followed him along a hallway lined with Native American artwork from the Pacific Northwest, the red, white and black paintings staring at her boldly in the low light. The home smelled of pine and rich earth and secrets as old as the bedrock resting far beneath their feet. Every wall of Jacob's living room had built in glass shelves. It looked like a museum. Each shelf was spotless and dust free. The items on display were breathtaking - handmade tools, pottery, leatherwork, carvings and countless artifacts from another era. Bella took it all in, breathing in deep and smiling at the warmth and mystery of the strange, enchanting place.

Jacob was watching her with his lips curved up in a patient smile. "Thank you," he said.

"For what?" she asked, confused.

"You have a beautiful smile."

"Oh, well. Um. Thanks. . ." she responded.

"Come. Follow me," Jacob beckoned again with his fingers. He activated a switch behind one of the shelves. It slid forward barely two feet revealing a narrow staircase. Taking one last glance around the room, Bella followed his surprisingly fast descent to the hidden basement.

After the dimness of the main house, the bright lights of the concealed studio were almost blinding. The area was pristine and equipped with everything she had come to expect at a hair salon, but only had room for a single client. Cabinets lined one wall and there were literally hundreds of small drawers beneath the counters. Bella sat in the black chair as directed and waited while he opened drawer after drawer, seemingly at random, amassing a pile of combs, brushes, styling products and more.

"First, the hair. Wash and cut, then several basic styles you can manage alone."

"Okay," Bella agreed readily, fascinated by how quickly he moved about despite his size and age.

"Then makeup. Again, several basic techniques to create the looks you will need."

"Did he give you instructions?"

"Of a sort," he smiled up at her, his dark brown eyes twinkling and his skin showing deep lines of humor around his eyes and mouth.

"Ahh. Of course. I guess you get pretty good at interpreting and filling in the odd blank spot, don't you?"

"If he lets you, yes."

"Cryptic. Every damn one of you," she huffed with an exaggerated sigh. His response was another rasping laugh, one that shook his wide shoulders and made his hair sway around his face.

Within a few minutes, Jacob was ready. He shampooed and conditioned her hair with the practiced ease and strong fingers of a veteran hair dresser. Bella watched with wide eyes as he rapidly trimmed away several inches of length, then roughly layered her hair. With a blow dryer and round brush he added voluminous waves that flowed gently around her shoulders. It made her look young and innocent. And vulnerable. While she thought it was pretty, it was also unsettling given the context of her assignment.

"Can you do that?"

"I think so. Show me again?"

"Like this," he said, placing the hair dryer and brush in her hands.

With his gentle guidance, she learned the easy pace of the style. It was a carefree look and she was happy she could accomplish it on her own with little effort. He spritzed her hair with water, brushed out the curls and demonstrated how to use a flat iron. Her hair was almost as blade-straight as his when they finished. Styling her hair into braids, buns and twists was much more challenging, but Jacob instructed her on how to apply and work with mousse, gel and spray to get her hair to cooperate and stay somewhat under control.

"Practice. It takes practice. These few styles are versatile enough for what you'll be doing. You practice and you'll do just fine."

"Okay," Bella said, as she attempted a French twist for the second time in a row. She was curious how much Masen had told Jacob, and how much the older man had deduced on his own. "I can do this," she said under her breath, battling wayward strands that randomly puffed and slipped out of her grasp. When she finally jammed the final pin into place, it looked almost respectable.

"Beautiful. Do you want to take a short break? Or should we move straight on to cosmetics?"

"Let's keep going before I lose my nerve. I hate makeup."

"Don't say that. Not when you are shut in a locked, hidden studio with a professional cosmetologist."

"Retired cosmetologist," she teased, smiling at him in the mirror.

"And you think that makes me any less protective of my chosen profession?"

They both laughed, enjoying each other's company. Liking Jacob was so simple. Effortless. He was as warm and easygoing as Agent Masen was closed off. Even so, Bella did not forget the shrewd way he had evaluated her when he first answered the front door. He might be fun to work with, but she was under no illusions about his history with Agent Masen. If she was a betting girl, she would lay good money down that Jacob was just as formidable in his younger days. Maybe more.

Out of all the looks Jacob had designed for her, Bella only liked one. It was subtle, understated and easy. The rest were too bold. She sat and grimaced at her reflection when he finished applying lipstick for her fourth trial run.

"You don't like it?"

"I look like a high-priced hooker."

"Excellent. That is exactly the point."

"Do men really like this sort of thing?"

"Are you asking me personally, or are you seeking my opinion as a professional?"

"Both, I guess," Bella shrugged. She had enjoyed the hair dressing lessons and was disappointed that the second part of her appointment was such a let-down.

"Personally, I prefer clean and natural skin." He paused and smiled, his eyes turned soft and nostalgic. He shook his head ruefully. "But perhaps that is my age speaking. Professionally, I appreciate the many ways we can trick the eye and subtly influence the minds of those around us. Take a pretty young lady like you, add a darker shade of lipstick, brighter highlights across the cheekbones, nose and forehead, extend the eyeliner a millimeter further and. . . ahh. . . you are exotic and sexy." His smile was teasing and his voice became more animated. "To a man, that look says you are hungry for him. You want him to look not once, but twice, and then come closer. And it is clear, so clear to a man's way of thinking, that when a woman is looking at a man that way she wants him to be thinking of sex. It can make him very interested. Very excited. Or, if another man moves in on his target, it can make him jealous, possessive, bold and rash. A woman with this knowledge can control a room. I have seen it. It is art. It is power. It is a weapon, if you learn to wield it."

Surprised by his long speech and the intensity of his words, Bella clamped her lips tightly over her objections. Masen hadn't sent her to a makeup counter in a department store. He had sent her here, to this man. To this mysterious, sweet and talented older man. He sent her to Jacob to learn something she couldn't learn anywhere else. Bella raised her eyes to meet his in the mirror and nodded her understanding.

"Teach me more."

He grinned and rubbed his aged hands together meditatively. "You want more? Sure, sure. We can do more."

Bella was exhausted by the time they finally climbed the stairs back to the main house. Jacob invited her to join him in his tiny kitchen for tea and homemade berry muffins. It was so easy to talk to him that another hour passed before she realized it was dark outside and she should probably be heading back to her apartment.

Bella excused herself to use the restroom. When she returned, Jacob was waiting for her in the living room with a worn leather makeup bag and matching satchel filled with the basic tools and products she would need to manage her hair and makeup.

"I bought these especially for you."

Bella could not hide the skeptical look that twisted her features. The bags were of good quality but well worn, and she remembered him using makeup products from containers that showed various stages of use and external wear. Some of the primary colors had used on her were half gone!

Jacob grinned as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. "Your favorite things should look like your favorites. Old and trustworthy friends always show a bit of wear and tear."

"Of course. I should have thought of that," she agreed, embarrassed by the latest reminder of her inexperience.

"You'll do very well. He trusts you. That's high praise."

"Thank you. And he trusts you, too."

"As well he should. He was my protégé once upon a time." The aged face crinkled up into its now-familiar smile. On impulse, Bella hugged him. He felt more frail than he looked, bones pressing up in knobs and ridges beneath wiry muscles and paper thin skin. "Take care of yourself. And make sure he comes back whole," he murmured against her hair as he returned her embrace.

"I'll do my best. Thank you, Jacob. You're a good man."

"So is he. Although he may not know it yet."

"I know he is. Even if he does piss me off. Thanks for everything." Feeling oddly emotional, Bella waved good bye and drove home.

* * *

_A/N: I had a couple questions from recent reviews that I want to answer here:_

_\- Bella is 23. Agent Masen is in his mid to late 30's. I honestly don't know his exact age._

_\- There will not be an EPOV for this story. This story is about both of them, but Bella's perspective is most appropriate especially in later chapters._

_\- If you had a question or concern and I DID NOT respond to it in my reply to your review, it's because it will be addressed soon. . . ish. . . eventually._


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Have you ever heard of The Lemonade Stand? If you've been involved in the fandom more than a month, I'm sure you have. Well, those lovely ladies included On The Line in their Monday fic rec this week. Thanks so much, TLS, especially Cappricorn75. _

_Welcome, new readers! I'm glad you're here!_

* * *

The apartment was dark when she got there. Bella opened a beer and ate a slice of cold pizza standing at the counter. Communication hadn't been clear or consistent since the beginning, but she felt she was well within her rights to expect a little more transparency by now. They had been working together almost a week and time was running out. The suit and shoes were gone from her closet and there was no evidence that her 'roommate' had ever been there at all. Her phone had been silent all day and when she checked her e-mail the only messages she saw were some office-wide announcements. There was nothing from Agent Masen.

At 10:30 she gave up on him returning that night, got ready for bed and turned out the light.

Sunday began at 5:45 with her alarm blaring in her ear. She smacked the 'off' button in a panic, sat up and looked around frantically. Masen was standing near the window, dressed for running and drinking nonchalantly from a glass of water.

Feeling completely pissed off, Bella threw on her own running clothes, hooked her keys into the drawstring of her shorts and left the apartment without sparing him a second glance. On the sidewalk she checked her watch. Three miles at an 8:05 pace would bring her back to the same spot in 24 minutes and 15 seconds. She wasn't a human calculator like Agent Masen, but she had enough of a sense of direction to follow their previous route and she knew what it felt like to run an 8:10 mile time. In a word, it sucked. So, if she pushed herself until she felt like vomiting instead of just collapsing, she should be right on the money with the faster time. Bella set off running without looking back. Before she even hit the first intersection, Masen fell into step beside her. Neither one said a word.

She didn't check her watch again until the apartment came back into view near the end of their circuit. They were a little behind the pace so she kicked it up a notch, breathing hard but still managing to hold her form. Masen kept pace barely a half-step behind her. Bella normally stretched before going inside but she needed to pee desperately so she continued running right up the steps.

When she stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Masen was waiting in the center of her apartment with his hands on his hips. She matched his pose. The air between them was heavy with tension.

"Are you angry at me?" he finally asked.

"Should I be?"

His eyes narrowed slightly and he appeared to be seriously considering her question. "No."

"Well, too bad. I am. I don't expect you to tell me everything. I know you're juggling a thousand details that are miles beyond my comprehension or experience, but I fail to see how me being constantly left in the dark is going to help us work together."

Her voice was raised and she was talking too fast. Bella tried to contain her emotions, but her constant confusion had been eating away at her confidence since the very beginning. Hearing Masen dismiss her anger out of hand cut deep. She didn't know why it hurt, but it did, and she would be damned if she was going to cry. Her emotions rarely simmered so close beneath her skin, but that morning was just one thing too many. He had even set her alarm for her! Maybe he had intended it to be helpful, but instead it felt invasive. She was sacrificing a lot on this mission. It didn't seem like too much to ask for him to keep his hands off her stuff.

"Not knowing everything makes you angry?" His words were slow and cautious.

"Well, no. That's not what I said. I don't like being kept in the dark. I don't need to know everything. Just, you know, don't surprise me."

"But you surprise me." He rocked back on his heels and forward again.

"I what?"

"You're very difficult to read. You surprise me all the time."

"I'm not difficult to read. I'm an open book. And besides, I'm not the one who keeps disappearing and reappearing like a magician's fucking rabbit!"

"So this is about me being gone yesterday?"

"God, just stop it! Why do you have to be such a man?!" Bella slammed her hand against the countertop out of frustration.

Seconds later there was a pounding on the wall and she sheepishly called out an apology to her neighbor. She hadn't realized she was yelling at 6:30 on a Sunday morning. So much for being a stealthy undercover operative.

"We need to talk," Masen said with a half smile.

"Ugh. Fine. Yeah," she agreed in an exasperated tone.

Bella sat on the floor and leaned forward to touch her toes for a few seconds before sitting back up and staring at Masen. The swelling on his jaw had gone down a bit, but it had spread into a mottled reddish purple bruise. He hadn't shaved in a day and a half. The bristles around his mouth and jaw, slightly lighter than his reddish-brown hair, gave him a rough and formidable look. When he smiled as he was then, it gave him the appearance of a man up to no good, like a pirate, only dangerously attractive.

Masen lowered himself to the floor a few feet away and mirrored her pose. "I think we need to rewind a bit."

"That might be good."

"I apologize for not telling you about yesterday's appointments earlier. Jacob didn't confirm with me until early Saturday morning."

"Further."

"Wait, further? The business man get-up?" He looked confused.

"Further."

"The frying pan?"

"You're awfully dense," she said through gritted teeth.

"Thank you. . . I think. . ."

"I'm talking about the very beginning. Meeting with Mahardy on Monday. After he dismissed me you two got all cozy in his office and talked about who knows what without me. Then, when you finally chose to find me and talk to me, you jumped straight into psycho rapist mode without any warning. What, was that a test or something?"

Masen let out his breath with a whoosh then cocked his head to one side and evaluated her for a few seconds before responding. "Mahardy wanted to apologize for saddling me with a new recruit. His top five picks were unavailable for one reason or another. Pregnant, too old for the part, on other assignments, recovering from an appendectomy. You were his Hail Mary pass."

The blood drained from Bella's face and she swallowed against a wave of nausea. Not even her boss thought she could do this. His line about being 'the right agent for the job' was just some leadership bullshit he was using to manipulate her.

Masen continued speaking after a brief pause, "Fortunately I learned not to trust Mahardy's instincts about anything years ago. I liked you. You struck me as being a bit naive and idealistic, but tough and teachable. Both good things. You have an incredibly visual imagination. I could tell that just by watching your eyes as you read Mahardy's mission file. You're smart and focused. You immediately got to work learning the plan and improving upon it. The scene in the conference room _was _a test. I needed to know what kind of range of emotion I could get out of you. We're going to be selling a pretty elaborate story to people who have seen it all. They need to believe everything we feed them, which means we're both going to be tapping into some very dark emotions. You showed me that you could do that."

Bella had been chewing on her lower lip as he spoke, but when he finished she relaxed a little and continued stretching out her legs. "And all this shady undercover stuff you've been up to?"

"You were right when you said I'm juggling a thousand details. An operation of this scope should never be thrown together with so little preparation. We're not Hollywood action heroes. This shit is real. We can't wing it and trust the special effects crew to gloss over the holes in the plot. Once we go in, it's just you and me until we have everything we need to blow the roof off this group. That means we need to identify the man at the top. There is _always _a kingpin. It's our job to find him. As for the timeline, the original plan had Edward Cullen leaving Seattle in late July. Unfortunately, there have been a few untimely deaths. Nothing to do with us, I promise. But in this game the mortality rate is high, so I can't say I'm that surprised. If Edward Cullen was real and those individuals were his true contacts and associates, he would be spooked and getting the hell out of Seattle as fast as possible. One death, no big surprise. But two? That smells like more than coincidence. That's a change in the tide. He would start breaking camp immediately. Anyway, even the two weeks Mahardy gave us is a stretch. That's why we're flying up there tomorrow."

Bella's eyes widened. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah. But don't worry. You don't have to pack anything. You're not bringing any of this with you. Well, maybe just a token bag for authenticity."

"Tomorrow," she said again, reeling from the latest revelation.

"We have some loose ends to tie up there and then it takes five days to reach Florida."

"I thought we were flying there."

"How could he take her on a plane? Marie doesn't have any identification and his number one forger was found face down in Puget Sound a week and a half ago. Blood Alcohol Content point two four. He was a teetotaler. You do the math." He grinned at her and she quelled the urge to kick him.

"Wow. Okay. Tomorrow. . ." She looked around her tiny apartment and then back at her partner. It was a shock, but she felt okay with it. They would have the entire trip across the States to train and strategize together. However, there was still one thing eating at her. "I appreciate you telling me all that. I would be lying if I said it wasn't reassuring and comforting to know you think I can do the job. But I need you to know I'm more than just a tool."

"And _that _is where you're wrong, Agent Swan. We're both tools. Nothing more. The sooner you learn that fact, the better." His tone, while still playful, was backed with steel.

"If we're just tools in this big game and you and SAC Mahardy agree I'm the best you have, then why was I getting a weird vibe from Agent Filipovna on Friday morning? Does she have a problem with me?"

"You're too damn perceptive." He shot a crooked grin her way. "Tanya has never worked in the field, but she's been behind the scenes on a hundred different missions. She's seen agents succeed against the odds and others fail on easy assignments. Over the years, she's worked with lone operatives, partners like us and entire teams. With that kind of experience and perspective, you can imagine that her observations of the agents themselves are as valuable as the intel she prepares for them. Her opinion is that you need to keep your head in the game at all times. Never drop your guard."

"And she thinks I've dropped my guard? Or that you've dropped your guard with me? I don't get it. We're partners. We need to be able to work well together."

"You're right. We're partners. We work together."

"Now you're being intentionally obtuse. Sometimes you really piss me off."

"Would it help if I let you hit me?"

"Ugh," she groaned. "You already did. If anything, that only made it worse."

Masen chuckled and lay down with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "So we're good then?"

"Yeah, we're good. . . partner." She giggled a little imagining Agent Masen in a ten-gallon hat. He did kind of remind her of a Louis L'Amour character sometimes. . . Hard-bitten, a bit rough and utterly lethal.

* * *

_A/N: I hope that conversation answered some of the questions that have been swimming around the reviews these last couple weeks. :)_


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N:I love you guys so very, very much. Just sayin'._

_Thanks, Ninkita for fixing my fumbles!_

* * *

With the elephant in the room finally dispatched and disposed of, the mood between them lightened considerably. The rest of Sunday disappeared in a blur of activity. After breakfast, Masen walked Bella through more fighting drills, showing her how easily a person, even a slighter, weaker person, could disable the strongest grip. The mental and physical focus left her feeling sweaty and headachey again, but also strangely adrenalized. The saying, 'knowledge is power' had never rung more true.

Masen came and went throughout the day, occasionally sending Bella new text or e-mail instructions. It was a relief to escape the apartment and drive up to the gun range for more shooting practice that evening, but by the time the ammo was spent, she was physically and mentally tapped out. For the second night in a row, Bella did not return home until after dark. Even with the escalating anticipation of their flight the next day, Bella fell asleep quickly that night.

When she woke up on Monday morning, she was all alone. Agent Masen's tendency to disappear without a trace was becoming so commonplace that she was unfazed by his absence. However, that morning was different. He had left her a note.

_Your name is Abigail Swanson. You are a college student returning home to Seattle from a sightseeing trip to our nation's capital. Dress casually and comfortably. Pack a bag with Jacob's contributions and some clothes you don't mind getting rid of. A taxi will collect you at 10:15. Leave all keys and personal identification on the counter. Mahardy will take care of car/apartment/etc._

_Upon arrival at SEA, proceed to the Baggage Assistance Counter. They are holding a garment bag and small suitcase for you. Change in a bathroom. Hair and makeup: professional. Think 'executive assistant'._

_Pack everything into the suitcase and wait for your ride outside the baggage claim area. Have a safe flight._

_-M_

_P.S. I don't have to tell you to destroy this note, do I? It will not self destruct. . . You have to do that part. See you soon._

Bella felt safe rolling her eyes without him there. On her bedside table beside the note was a small beige backpack/purse and her itinerary. She unbuckled the bag and looked inside. She found a wallet with cash, bank cards and Washington State driver's license in the name of Abigail Anne Swanson, pink lip-gloss, folding brush, scrunchie blue hair tie, Altoids, iPhone with a green and blue swirled case, earbuds, sun glasses, travel-size sunscreen, hand sanitizer, a travel pack of maxi pads, a souvenir Washington Monument and crumpled receipts from fast food restaurants and local attractions all dated within the last seven days. He was so thorough, it was dizzying.

Looking at the clock she had plenty of time to get ready. Bella decided to devote her final three hours to being completely, utterly normal. This was bound to be her last taste of sanity for who knew how long.

She took a short jog around the block to loosen up her sore muscles, showered, exfoliated (per the instructions of the exuberant aesthetician), pulled her damp hair into a ponytail and took her own identity for a final, nostalgic drive around Silver Spring. She bought breakfast and coffee to-go at her favorite diner and drove along Beach Drive until she found a secluded spot. She sat in the grass, ate her breakfast, then scattered the crumbs in Rock Creek and watched as the fragments were carried down-stream.

Bella sat and lost herself in the hypnotic motion of the water until the mid-morning sun became too warm, then she headed back to her apartment. She packed a medium-sized duffel bag with everything she was instructed to bring, read the note one more time, then tore it into tiny shreds and flushed it down the toilet. She looked around for her mission folder that contained all the photos of the missing girls and her notes. She wanted to keep her mind busy as she waited for her ride, but just like her partner, the folder was nowhere to be found.

A few minutes past the appointed time, a yellow taxi pulled up in front of the building. Bella took one last look around at the tiny space that had been her home for the last few months, set her keys beside her wallet and cell phone on the counter, and said goodbye in a whisper. She locked the door and pulled it closed behind her. Carrying nothing but the cute backpack and a bag containing the tools for her imminent transformation, Bella left her real life behind.

The flight to Seattle was so uneventful that Bella felt like there was something wrong. She was seated next to a chatty real estate agent named Jason who was returning from a visit with his sister and her children. Bella had visited many of the tourist attractions upon her arrival in DC, so she had no problem sharing enthusiastic tales of sightseeing with him. The only awkward moment came as they taxied into the terminal when he invited her out for drinks that evening to celebrate their safe landing. Bella stumbled through a polite refusal, blushing the entire time. It had felt so good to talk with another human being about casual, light hearted topics. She realized a little too late that after sitting beside her for the better part of six hours, he had formed an attachment to her.

Jason looked crestfallen but plucked up his courage enough to give her his business card, just in case she changed her mind about that drink or was ever in the market to buy a place. She pocketed the card and offered a polite smile and best wishes as he gathered his bags and disembarked. She waited until the cabin was almost empty before squeezing in front of a laughing, sunburned couple and shuffling to the exit.

At the baggage claim, she snagged her bag from the carousel, then got in line at the Baggage Assistance Counter. The line was pretty long. She kept her mind occupied with people watching. It was staggering how many travelers were hurrying about the bustling international airport. You could get lost in the crowd and disappear so easily. It was a tempting thought. How long would it take Agent Masen to track her down? Less than a day, she was sure of that. When it was her turn at last, she showed her ID and took possession of a matching designer garment bag and rolling suitcase. The suitcase weighed next to nothing so she assumed it was empty or close to it.

Bella went to the closest bathroom and shut herself into the handicap stall. Moving as quickly as she could, she stripped down to her underwear and opened the garment bag. Inside she found a stylish gray suit and mauve blouse. The suitcase held nylons, a pair of taupe pumps and a Coach purse. Out of curiosity, she looked inside and found accessories to match the outfit. Wallet (Abigail Anne Swanson was now three years older), smartphone, perfume, jewelry, gold hairclip, rings and a watch. Bella hastily donned the rest of her disguise, set aside her hair and makeup bags, transferred the remaining contents of her duffle bag to the suitcase, folded the bag itself flat and stuffed that in, too.

Other travelers hurried in and out of the bathroom as she worked, each of them focused on getting on with their lives and away from the chaotic environment of the airport. Feeling guilty for monopolizing the handicap stall for so long, Bella dragged everything out to the sinks and started her hair and makeup. Masen had told her to keep it professional. With the 'executive assistant' idea in mind, Bella opted for a neutral color palette and gathered her hair into a simple, low tail with the gold clip. Once she was satisfied with her hair, she turned to her makeup kit.

Ten minutes later, Bella took a step back and looked over her reflection. She looked so sophisticated that she hardly recognized herself. There were butterflies in her stomach and her mouth and throat were parched.

She smoothed her hands over her skirt, slung her empty garment bag over one shoulder and wheeled the now-heavy suitcase out through the baggage claim area to the sidewalk. It took her several moments to realize the black-suited man holding the sign reading 'Swanson' was waiting for her. She was mortified that she had forgotten her cover so quickly and was relieved that Masen had chosen a last name that was sure to catch her eye no matter what her mental state.

Bella took a steadying breath and forced herself to smile. She tried to look relieved but still poised and controlled, the way any professional would look upon finding their ride after a long cross-country trip. As she approached the driver she gave him a small wave and made eye contact. He greeted her by name, opened the back door of the black sedan and took her luggage.

Bella's heart almost stopped when she looked inside. The master of disguise had managed to shock her once again. Masen sat in the spacious back seat wearing a dark suit over a black shirt. His tie was muted grays and greens, he had cufflinks at his wrists, manicured fingernails and a very expensive looking watch. His hair was shorter and his jaw was completely smooth. Most startling of all, he was wearing glasses this time. . . and contacts.

Brilliant green eyes looked up at her over the rim of his glasses. He raised one carefully groomed eyebrow and said, "Ah, good. Ms. Swanson. . . I was afraid you had decided not to join us."

Bella swallowed her trepidation and slid into the car, placing her purse on the seat between them. "You know how air travel is these days. Lines, lines and more lines."

"That is precisely why I avoid flying commercial airlines," he stated in a bored tone, tapping away on his phone screen. Without looking up he signaled the driver to go. "Ms. Swanson, why don't you pull up my calendar and see what you can do about my schedule tomorrow. It's a mess. I would rather not be sitting in rush hour traffic if it can be helped."

It took her almost a second to catch on. Bella fumbled in the unfamiliar purse for the like-new smart phone she had seen earlier. She swiped the screen to unlock it and had to fight a smile. There was one alert - a recent text.

_~Glad you made it.~_

With her lower lip trapped between her teeth she replied. _~Nice glasses.~_

Out of the corner of her eye she was certain she saw his lip twitch.

* * *

_A/N: Oh, yes. Green eyes AND glasses._


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: This wouldn't have been ready to post today if it weren't for Ninkita. Thanks, Eagle Eyes! *waves at Ninkita*_

* * *

Even though Bella grew up in a small town on the Olympic Peninsula just a few hours from Seattle, she had only been to the city a handful of times during her childhood. Midway through her senior year of high school she was accepted into the University of Washington. However, UW was actually her second choice. When she learned the following week that she had earned a scholarship to cover 80% of her tuition at Dartmouth, she didn't think twice about accepting. She applied for student loans to cover the difference and moved to New England, barely giving a second thought to the city she was leaving behind.

Returning to Seattle gave her an oddly nostalgic feeling. Within minutes of leaving the airport, the Seattle skyline came into view and Bella's heart thumped in her chest. The last time she had seen that view was more than five years ago. She had been traveling to the city with her parents to tour the UW campus. Until that moment, she hadn't paused to consider what this mission would mean to her life outside the FBI. While undercover, she would have few, if any, opportunities to communicate with her parents. When she had originally been accepted into the FBI Academy, they had known times like this would come. They had talked about it more than once. But now, as with so many things she had thought about or attempted to prepare for, the reality unlocked a barrage of complex and unexpected emotions.

Bella toyed with her new phone as they approached the city. The driver exited the freeway north of Boeing Field and they wove their way through the cluttered, industry-heavy South Seattle area until they came to a secure, gated facility. Uniformed guards stopped them and directed them to park alongside the guard shack.

Their driver unloaded Bella's luggage from the trunk, accepted a cash tip from Masen and left them there. In the cramped station, Masen showed his identification and they stood quietly while the Marine Staff Sergeant cross-checked his clipboard and computer screen, then picked up the phone and dialed a number.

"Yes, this is Staff Sergeant Mikaelson out at Station 596. I have an Edward Cullen here to retrieve a vehicle from impound. The attached notes said to call this number upon his arrival. Yes. . . Yes, sir. . . Absolutely. Yes, sir. I can hold. . ."

Bella had to keep reminding herself not to fidget as the minutes dragged on. Masen stood beside her with his jacket open and his hands in his pockets, staring intensely at the Marine Sergeant as if he could inhabit the man's body, look through his eyes and see what he saw. The sergeant kept glancing up at Agent Masen, then back down at his clipboard, obviously uncomfortable, but unwilling to challenge the well-dressed visitor.

Two other Marines sat at the desk and split their attention between monitoring their video feeds, scanning the road and staring at Bella and Masen. Bella didn't have the same need to dominate the room that Agent Masen seemed to. She avoided making eye contact with any of them. Tired of standing in her unfamiliar shoes, she settled into a chair in the corner. The air conditioning was set so high she was almost shivering and couldn't wait to go back outside.

The Sergeant eventually got to speak to whoever he had called for. His facial expressions morphed from confusion to understanding and then to complete bewilderment. Bella couldn't follow the conversation at all. When he got off the phone his demeanor had changed completely. Instead of standoffish suspicion, he greeted Agent Masen by his true name and position. His tone was deferential, or as close to it as a Marine can sound.

"Agent Masen, sir, I've been instructed to give you your choice of the vehicles we have in impound. Here's the list." He handed Masen four pages when the printer spat them out. "The white Mercedes is in excellent condition, very clean. It should do nicely for whatever you need it for. There's a Maserati on the list, too. Gorgeous car. You've really got to love those Italian exotics."

"Hmm. I'll take the Bimmer, number 1473," Masen replied flatly, after a cursory glance at his options.

"Are you sure? It could use a wash. It's been sitting here for almost-"

"23 days. Yes, I know. I'll take the BMW. Do you have the key?"

"Uuuuh, the key? Yes, sir. Right away."

The man looked unnerved and there was sweat beading on his forehead despite the coolness of the room. That made no sense. Masen hadn't said or done anything overtly threatening. She wondered what the individual on the other end of the line had said about their presence or purpose.

Sergeant Mikaelson handed Agent Masen a key fob on a stainless steel ring along with a white envelope. Masen opened the envelope, flipped through the registration and insurance paperwork, nodded his approval and thanked him. He glanced over at one of the younger men. "Private, take the lady's luggage, please."

"Yes, sir," he replied promptly and came around the counter to take Bella's garment bag and suitcase. Bella followed the two men out of the small office, across several rows of vehicles, boats, motorcycles and trailers, to a low, black convertible. The Private loaded her luggage into the trunk, gave Agent Masen a sharp salute, and returned to his post, leaving them alone in the center of the impound yard.

Something was bothering Bella, but it took her a couple seconds for the pieces to click into place. Masen never did anything without a reason. He had padded their supplies and funding list knowing that Mahardy would trim it down. Masen had given a little here and there, but dug his heels in on the high priority items. And he had dug his heels in for the car, too.

She opened the passenger side door, but paused before getting in. "Wait a minute. What's so special about this car?"

"I don't understand," he replied innocently, looking at her over the black fabric top.

"This car. This particular car. You wanted it. I think you've wanted it all along. Those guys in there would have given you your choice of dozens of cars, some of them worth way more than this, but you are dead set on this one. Why?"

He looked over at the guard shack, then slid his eyes back to her, a slow crooked smile forming on his lips. "I must be the luckiest guy in the world."

"Code. I don't like it. English works just fine."

"Hold my phone and briefcase for me, please," he said, walking around the front of the car and handing her both.

She stood to the side and watched as he climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. The V8 hummed like a giant cat, warm and languid as it basked in the evening sun. She smiled involuntarily. He was grinning up at her through the open door.

"Gorgeous, huh?"

"Yeah. It is. So, you just really like this car. That's all there is to it?"

"Not exactly. Take a couple steps back, please." He waited while she shuffled back a few feet. "This car is unique. It has a few special features. Like this one. . ." he said as he held down a small silver button on the steering column.

There was a strange humming sound that escalated to a high pitched whine then cut off suddenly. Bella looked around, then back at Masen. Apart from the odd sound, she didn't see that pushing the button had done anything noteworthy.

"Okay. . . what was that?"

"A convenient little security measure. One that will be very useful for us."

"Way to not answer the question. Thanks."

"Hop in, Ms. Swan. We have somewhere to be."

Bella walked around to the passenger side, stowed the briefcase and her purse behind her seat and climbed in. She had never been in such a luxurious car before. It felt like stepping into another world. She shut the door, fastened her seatbelt and waited for her partner to elaborate on the next step of their plan. The phone in her hand vibrated with an incoming call and she held it out to Masen.

"Ah, predictable as always," he gloated. He put the phone in speaker mode with his finger to his lips. "Rick, how are you?" Bella rolled her eyes and listened to their conversation.

"Agent Masen, I'm just checking in. Did you and Agent Swan get to the impound lot okay?"

"Yes we did. Thanks for arranging everything."

"And you have the car? Is everything working okay?"

"Like a dream, Rick."

"Masen. . ."

"Yes?"

"About communication from here on-"

"No bugs, Rick. No trackers, no bugs, no sensors of any kind."

"Now, see here-"

"No. This is not a negotiable point," he said, managing to sound tired, bored and annoyed simultaneously.

"Do you really expect me to-"

"Yes."

"Goddamn you, Masen." Mahardy was seething.

"He already has. Don't worry, boss. I'll check in periodically, just as I said I would. But until you hear from me, stay the hell out of my way."

"One of these days I'm gonna-"

"Nice chatting with you. Gotta run. Thanks for the car!"

One of the uniformed Marines waved them through the open gate and they pulled into traffic. Bella shook her head and looked out of the window at the passing buildings while Masen hung up and set his phone on the center console.

"Security measures. . ."

"Yep."

"Aha. And Mahardy called because. . ."

"I swept the car and he lost the feed."

"Excuse me?"

"Electronic sweep. That's why I had you stand back with the computer and phone. Wouldn't want to kill them by accident."

"How come I've never heard of this before?"

"It's experimental technology. It would never work in a stock vehicle. The internal computer and wiring would be fried. This car was modified by its previous owner with high gauge wiring, fuses and surge protectors to insulate critical components. The electrical pulse it creates is strong enough to fry the transmitter/receiver on most communication devices within a ten foot radius."

"So how do you know about it then?"

"A few months back I was tasked with gathering evidence to build a case against the former owner of this car. Every time I managed to plant a bug anywhere on him or his vehicle, it died within a couple days. It was driving me crazy. I decided to step things up. Instead of bugs, I installed cameras around his home, office and car. Sure enough, the next day the one in his car got fried, but not before I saw how he did it. That tiny silver button caused me so much inconvenience, but it's going to be a very nice little wild card for us, I think."

"Did SAC Mahardy know it existed?"

"Of course not. But he knows me well enough to realize that if I wanted this car, I wanted it for a reason. That's probably why those boys back at the lot tried to talk me out of it. They wanted time to figure it out."

"It's times like this I'm glad you're on my side."

"Times like this? I thought you were always glad to have me on your side."

"Well, sure. Except when we're running. Or when you're freaking me out with your multiple personalities. Or when you're trying to stab me. Or-"

"Enough, enough. I hear you loud and clear," he cut her off with a light laugh. "I should have quit while I was ahead. . ." They drove in companionable silence for a few moments before he added, "I'm glad you're on my side, too."

* * *

_A/N: **Disclaimer**: No Marines were injured in the writing of this chapter._

_All joking aside, I have the highest respect for the Marines. Every one I've ever met is a total badass including my brother-in-law. I just like to think that Masen's badassness out-badasses even the Marines. Okay. I'm done destroying the Queen's English. Until next time. . . . Thanks for reading!_


	14. Chapter 14

_There is awesomeness in the air tonight!_

_1st of all, I was very excited and extremely honored to have **On The Line** reviewed by **Fic Sisters - The International House of Fan Fiction** yesterday. Ladies, thank you for the wonderful review and the steady stream of wonderful reading recommendations! _

_2nd, if you check out the Fic Sisters blog, you will see the banner Twilly designed for On The Line, which I absolutely love! Incidentally, I've started reading several of the other stories rec'd in Friday's post. "Something Beautiful Remains" has completely stolen my heart. AU, fabulous writing, plays my emotions like a puppet master. Check it out!  
_

_3rd, Ninkita continues to be the best, most thorough Beta ever. Thanks, hun!_

* * *

"You hungry?" Masen asked as they drove through downtown.

"Um, yeah. A bit. But mostly thirsty."

"Well I'm starving. When we get to the hotel, I have a few calls to make. Can you order dinner for four up to my suite?"

"For four?"

"Like I said, we have a couple of loose ends to tie up."

"Who will I be this time? The college kid or the executive assistant?"

"You're Mr. Cullen's assistant for now, but at dinner you won't be either one. Just be yourself. You can introduce me to Marie later."

"It sounds so weird when you say it like that," Bella replied.

"I personally find it easier to view each cover as a character separate from myself, with their own history, thoughts, feelings, et cetera. Use whatever strategy works best for you."

"Right," Bella sighed. It seemed like an exaggeration to call her method for slipping in and out of character a 'strategy'. All she really did was react to Masen's cues. When he pushed one way, she followed or countered. She knew it wasn't good to be so dependent on him taking the lead, but her intuition seemed to be a better actress than her consciousness. She wasn't quite ready to create a whole persona out of thin air.

They pulled up to the Edgewater Hotel and Masen transformed back into Edward Cullen instantaneously, climbing out of the car and handing over his key to the valet with an aloof air. Bella kept her focus on him, not her surroundings, although she really wanted to look around the iconic Seattle landmark. As his assistant, she was supposed to anticipate and address his needs, not her own. She handed him his briefcase, directed the bellhop to retrieve her luggage, slipped her purse over her left forearm and entered the hotel first, walking straight up to the front desk. The valet pulled away from the curb as Edward Cullen strode self-assuredly into the building after her. He came up beside her, leaned his forearm on the counter and looked around the foyer, taking it all in with a critical eye.

Bella addressed the clerk. "A reservation for Mr. Edward Cullen?"

"Yes, Miss-"

"Swanson. Abigail Swanson."

"Thank you, Miss Swanson. We received your email last Thursday. We've been expecting you. Mr. Delfore will show you to your suite. Thank you so much for choosing The Edgewater!" The clerk beckoned a sharply dressed bellhop over to take the luggage.

Masen paused and turned back to the desk. "I'm waiting for several packages."

"Oh, yes. We've received three deliveries for you today. Our manager signed for them and had them taken up to your rooms." The woman's eager, helpful demeanor never faltered even when Mr. Cullen's stiff nod was the only thanks she received.

When the elevator opened on the top floor and they stepped out into the hallway, Bella felt Masen nudge her. She looked down at his hand and saw him rub his fingers together, the universal sign for money. Of course it would be beneath the egoed-out business man to tip the bellhop himself. Bella dug out her wallet while the hotel employee opened the door to the suite and deposited her bag and suitcase. With no idea of what the correct protocol for tipping was, she handed him a twenty from her wallet and thanked him with a prim smile.

When the door shut behind them, her shoulders slumped. It had been a long and exhausting day. All she wanted was a long drink of water, a light dinner and a soft bed. Instead, they were going to be entertaining two unnamed visitors - loose ends, as Masen called them. When he disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door, Bella looked around, taking stock of her surroundings. The windows overlooked Elliott Bay, awash with the orange glow of the setting sun. There was a comfortable couch, a round table with four chairs, a very large flat screen television and homey but high quality decorations. It was not as posh as she had expected it to be, but the view was phenomenal.

Bella found the room service menu and sat in a chair near the windows to look it over. She was certain that Masen would eat whatever was placed in front of him, but she had no idea what to order for their guests. She blanched when she opened the menu. There were only two pages. The dishes were described very briefly, but the prices were exorbitant. Breathing a tiny apology to all the hardworking taxpayers out there, Bella selected two appetizers and four entrees at random. She placed a call to the restaurant from the in-room phone and gave them her order. At the last second, she caved and also asked for a bottle of white wine. She rarely drank, but it would look odd to order dinner without drinks, especially since they were entertaining guests.

Masen was still in the bedroom. She could hear his voice, muffled through the closed door. Bella slipped off her shoes, poured herself a glass of water, touched up her makeup, then paced. The minutes crawled slowly by. What was taking Masen so long? When were their guests supposed to arrive? Who were they? He had made her adopt a fake identity for the flight to Seattle. How was it okay for her to 'be herself' when he had gone to such lengths to keep her departure from DC off the books? The questions were piling up in her head and she was anxious to get some answers.

Their food arrived in fancy covered dishes on a cart dressed with white linens. The waitress set everything out on the table, her eyes occasionally peeking up at Bella or around the room. Bella guessed she was probably looking for the other three diners, but the girl's curiosity made her paranoid. When the cart was empty, Bella pulled out another twenty dollar bill from her wallet. The waitress thanked her and disappeared down the hallway with the empty cart.

It was almost 8 o'clock. The food smelled delicious, and she was getting hungrier by the second. There was still no sign of Masen getting off the phone or their guests arriving. Bella sat back down and looked out across the bay, watching the wake peel off from the stern of the Bremerton ferry. The bedroom door opened seconds before there was a knock at the other door. Bella's eyes widened and she looked to Masen, waiting for him to make a move. He glanced down at her stockinged feet and raised an eyebrow.

"My feet were sore. Aren't you going to get that?"

"Why? They aren't here to see me."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. More nervous than she had been since she first learned of their assignment, Bella slipped her heels back on and went to answer the door. When she saw who was waiting on the other side, her mouth fell open in silent shock. She stumbled back a step, holding the door knob tightly to keep herself from falling over.

"Mr. and Mrs. Swan, please come in," Masen stepped around her and motioned them inside.

Bella glanced surreptitiously up and down the deserted hallway, then let the door swing shut behind them. She leaned back against the wall, looking at her parents through watery eyes. Seeing them was so unexpected that she didn't know how to respond. Finally, with a low cry, she stumbled into her mom's embrace. Her dad's arms wrapped around them both, and she felt like she was home for the first time in months.

"I was not expecting this. How did you. . . ? I don't understand," she mumbled against her mom's shoulder.

Her dad stepped back half a foot and spoke up, "I can't say I really understand, myself. I received a call middle of last week saying as we had won a four day, three night trip to the city. I thought it was some raffle your mother had entered us in at first, but then I got a text from you telling me I had to keep it on the down low and I knew right then something was cooking under the surface. Then we got a call from a gentleman earlier this evening inviting us up to dinner. Well, here we are, Bells."

"I never texted you," Bella looked over her mother's shoulder and glared at Agent Masen.

"Would you like me to take it back?" he asked.

"No!"

"Well then. Let's eat. I'm sure everyone has some questions, but I'm about to pass out. I haven't eaten since 6 am Eastern Time." With that, Masen unceremoniously started removing plate covers and poured out the wine. Her parents looked like they did indeed have a lot of questions, but were willing to wait a short time to get their answers.

Renee Swan stepped closer, patted her daughter's shoulder and looked over her outfit."I barely recognized you, sweetie. You look so sophisticated."

Bella blew her nose and dabbed her eyes with a tissue her mom handed her. "I know. It's not really me."

"You look nice," Charlie added as he held out a seat for his wife, then his daughter, before sitting down himself, glaring at Agent Masen. Masen had already started eating and Charlie's disapproval was plain.

"Don't mind him, Dad. He's a slob. You get used to it."

Masen looked up at her, smirked, and sat up straight in his chair. Like a quick-change magician, his transformation was instantaneous. He adopted a reserved and debonair attitude, offering her mother compliments on her scarf and thanking Bella for ordering their meal. Charlie's mustache twitched. Bella shook her head and started eating. By random luck she had sat down in front of the Miso Black Cod. It was so tender and delicious, she had to close her eyes to savor the first bite.

"Oh, Bella. This is so yummy. I wonder if I can recreate this at home."

Bella snorted and her dad choke-coughed. "Mom, just enjoy it. You can't cook mac and cheese without burning it. I don't think pan-seared scallops and roast asparagus are in your network."

"Now, Bella. . ." admonished her father.

"Do you want her cooking scallops at home?"

"Well, no," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Stop it, you two. It's a good thing my self esteem isn't tied to my culinary achievements. . . or your discerning palates."

Bella giggled and looked over at Masen, who was studying his wine glass. His plate was already half empty. He helped himself to the garlic bread and baked mussels that sat in the center of the table and continued eating with a half smile on his lips while Bella's parents bickered across the table.

When there was a lull in the banter he set his glass down, inched his chair back a few inches and fixed them each with a serious look. When he opened his mouth to speak, Bella cut him off.

"Please. Not yet. Can't I just be a normal girl for a few more minutes?"

He checked his watch and looked up with a serious expression. "No. Not really."

"Shit," she breathed resignedly. "Okay, fine. Mom, Dad, I'm going undercover. This is Agent Masen, my partner. I don't know how long it'll be until I can talk to you again, but it's really important that you don't let on that anything out of the ordinary is going on with me, okay?"

Her mom set her fork back on her plate and looked over at her husband. Bella's dad had his eyes on Masen, scrutinizing him.

"Chief Swan, we wouldn't be having this conversation if it weren't for your experience in law enforcement. I don't have to tell you that this is not a sanctioned meeting. I invited you both here tonight because Ms. Swan could not do so without compromising her cover. Before I say anything else, I need you both to understand that this dinner never happened. You have not seen your daughter since her graduation from training. Chief Swan, as a career police officer, I'm sure you understand the criticality of information security, not only for the success of our upcoming assignment, but for your daughter's immediate and long-term health and safety."

"I understand alright. I'm just trying to figure you out."

"I catch bad guys. Just like you."

"I don't think you're anything like me."

"Probably not."

"Hmm."

"Dad-" Bella cut in, but Masen talked right over her.

"Don't worry, Chief Swan. She'll be safe with me."

"You don't have any kids, do you?" Charlie asked pointedly.

"No, sir."

"I didn't think so. Another father would never tell me not to worry. Parents always worry." He took a swig from his wine glass and grimaced before continuing in a lower tone, "Take care of her out there."

"I will," Masen assured him.

Bella scowled at her dad, then switched her attention back to Masen. "Are you two finished speaking about me like I'm a child?"

"Oh, hush, Bella," Renee cut in. "You know your father. He just wants what's best for you. And, of course, we're scared. How will we know you're okay?" Her mom reached over and covered Bella's hand with her own, her brown eyes soft with concern.

"I-"

"We'll stay in email contact," Masen responded for her. "But there may be delays in responding. No calls, no visits, nothing in any correspondence to indicate that Bella is doing anything more exciting than routine duties at her DC office."

"What's the nature of this assignment?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't answer that."

Charlie Swan looked through the open bedroom door. The king-sized bed was very conspicuous.

"The couch pulls out," Masen added as if it would reassure the older man.

"Hmm."

"Anyone up for dessert?" Bella asked, trying to break the tension.

"Not tonight. Twenty minutes, Ms. Swan. I'll give the three of you some privacy." Masen stood, buttoned his jacket and left the suite.

Bella checked her watch. Twenty minutes to say good-bye? It wasn't enough time. But an eternity wouldn't have been long enough. By her dad's red-rimmed eyes and her mom's forced cheerfulness, she could tell they knew. . . she might not be coming back home.

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_A/N: Do you think Masen's reasons for bringing Bella's parents over were altruistic? Or did he have other motives?_


	15. Chapter 15

_Tarbecca, thanks again for all the wonderful work sharing fantastic stories (new and old) with us readers. Your weekly Fic Dive is one of my favorite Campfires over on ADF! Having On The Line featured and voted as one of the top fics for February is so amazing. Thanks! *waves to all her fellow campers*_

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There was nothing to say, really. They just held on to each other. Bella sat on the couch, sandwiched between her parents, three pairs of hands tangled in a tight knot in her lap. Almost exactly twenty minutes later, the silence was broken by a key-card unlocking the door. Her dad stood first and helped her to her feet. He kissed her forehead and hugged her tightly. Bella turned to her mom, her eyes blurred and burning.

"Mom. . . I'm going to miss you."

"Oh, honey. I'm going to miss you, too. And I'm going to practice cooking scallops. I'll make you a gourmet dinner when you come visit us after all this is finished. You'll see. It'll be delicious."

"Oh, boy. I can't wait," Bella joked with a watery chuckle.

"Smarty pants." Renee squeezed her and stepped back again with a sigh. "We'll look for an e-mail when you get a chance. And your hair is gorgeous. I forgot to say that earlier."

Bella shook her head and laughed. It was weak but it seemed to reassure her parents. Looking up, she met Masen's eyes. He was standing just inside the room, watching her expectantly. He didn't have to say it out loud. She could read his expression clearly. . . It was time to shift gears.

"Thanks, you guys. For coming up here this weekend, but also for being the best parents in the world. I love you so much. I'll e-mail you soon."

"Love you, too. We're heading back to Forks in the morning. We won't see you again before we leave, will we?"

She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

With dragging steps and many backward glances, they went to the door. Charlie shook Masen's hand, a wordless exchange of responsibility and a final plea. . . bring her home safely. When the door closed behind them Bella walked back to the window and looked out across the bay, the distant islands now swallowed up in the gray twilight. Strangely, she felt calmer after having seen her parents. They hadn't tried to talk her out of participating in the mission. They hadn't maligned Masen or her decisions in any way. Their love and support tethered her firmly to her real life, but now she had her hands and mind free to get to work.

It was time for her to become Marie.

She turned around and let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "So, what now?"

"Come on. I'll show you," Agent Masen tilted his head toward the bedroom. She walked ahead of him and saw a small chest and three suitcases on the floor beside the bed. "The smaller two suitcases are Marie's. And this chest is full of her. . . decorations, for lack of a better term." He placed the chest on the bed and opened it for her, then sat down in a chair in the corner to watch her going through the box.

"This jewelry is definitely not my style. I mean, these bracelets are huge!"

"To hide the bruises."

"What bruises? I don't have any brui-" she paused mid sentence and looked up at his mischievous smile. "Aww, shit."

"Don't worry. It'll be fun."

"You're sick."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Oh. Oh, wow," Bella breathed when she lifted a black leather case out of the chest and saw what was inside. It was a choker with wide blue ribbons interwoven with a silver herringbone chain. The band itself was an inch wide and the center was set with a glistening diamond and sapphire flower mounted in silver filigree.

"Like it?"

"It's stunning," she said, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. "I was kind of expecting a leather dog collar."

"Oh, this is much better. More Edward Cullen's style. And multi-functional, too."

"Multi-functional?"

"It doesn't look like it, but he can tether Marie to the floor with that thing and she'll never get away. The chain is made from a high-strength silver-palladium alloy. It's also equipped with GPS and a few other fun features. Do you want to try it on?"

"Really?"

"You'll be wearing it round the clock starting tomorrow. Why not?"

"Okay. Sure," she said with a smile. Even knowing it was a symbol of Marie's slavery didn't quell the part of her that was once a little girl who loved dressing up in her mom's jewelry. Nothing she had ever worn could hold a candle to the beauty and elegance of the piece she now held.

"Allow me," Agent Masen said, pushing himself out of the armchair.

He took the box from her, removed the heavy choker from its case and did something to the clasp. It popped open with a loud snap. Bella gathered her hair and held it off her neck as he refastened the necklace around her throat. She swallowed experimentally against the unfamiliar weight and pressure of the cool metal.

With fingertips gently stroking the silk and silver band, she wandered over to the dresser and stared at her reflection. There was something innately attractive about the image before her - something feminine and classically beautiful. In the background, Masen took a step forward, arms hanging loosely at his sides. He was watching her intently. She smiled hesitantly then gave a strangled cry as pain flared around her throat, radiating like fire from the collar around her neck. The pain stopped as suddenly as it started, but she was already panicking, fingernails searching and digging at the clasp for a catch or hidden button to release it.

"Relax. It's fine."

"Fine?" she shrieked, eyes watering with shock and pain. "What the fuck was that? Get it off of me. Now!"

"Easy now. It's fine. I'll turn it down. But now you know how it feels at full strength. Any time Mr. Cullen activates the collar, react just like that. You were perfect."

"Fuck you, Masen. I want to see you try it on for size. It might wipe that smug smirk off your face."

"I would but I can't. Sorry. My neck is too big. The clasp must be engaged and the collar has to be in continuous contact with your skin to work. Too big or too small, it wouldn't complete the circuit. This was made to your precise dimensions."

"And you had my measurements taken the very first day. I thought it was odd that a lingerie shop took such detailed measurements. Was she working for you?"

"Yes. She just didn't know why. I'm sure she assumed we were into some kinky stuff on the side and needed a few items custom made. She was happy to take the cash tip, though."

"God, I hate you sometimes."

"Join the club. You're in excellent company," he laughed easily as he released the clasp and returned the choker to its case along with a small black fob she hadn't noticed before.

"You're such a bastard," she muttered wryly, rubbing her throat. In the mirror she could see there was no real damage, just a mild redness where the collar had rested against her skin. However, the remembered shock kept her nerves buzzing with the anticipation of more pain. Voluntarily putting the collar back on in the morning was going to be a challenge.

"You should try your clothes on, too."

"Why? Are the new underwear going to bite me in the ass?"

"Ha! No, nothing like that. But it would be good practice."

"In front of you, you mean."

"Of course."

"Ugh. Fine. Keep your hands where I can see them. No more surprises or I'll attached battery cables to your junk while you're asleep tonight."

"If you were anyone else, I would be certain you were bluffing. Since you're you, I swear I will do nothing untoward."

"Okay," she breathed. "Okay. Um, should I just be trying stuff on? Or changing completely?"

"Go ahead and try everything on once. Get familiar with what you have to work with. You can sleep in whatever is most comfortable tonight. When we get up tomorrow morning, the game begins. We leave at 9:00."

Bella knelt on the floor and unzipped the medium suitcase slowly. Inside she found an assortment of clothes. A couple pairs of jeans, lots of short shorts and skirts, and an assortment of tops. She looked over her shoulder to the bathroom door. It was tempting to take everything in there to try it on in comfort and privacy. If she did, would Agent Masen stop her? Being bare in front of him was so intimidating, but she needed to get used to it immediately. They were already counting the days to their arrival in Florida. Now was not the time to let fear, embarrassment or any other inconvenient emotion undermine the mission.

Bella stood up and unbuttoned her jacket. She glanced over at Masen, just as he looked away. He sat back down in the armchair in the corner. He could see her, but his attention was not on her; he was busy with his phone. Bella removed her blouse, skirt and nylons, hanging everything carefully in the closet. In her plain white bra and underwear, she proceeded to try on all of the tops and bottoms.

By the third shirt the theme was obvious. Every article of clothing was designed to flaunt something. If it covered her breasts, it left her back or belly bare. If it was loose, it was also very low cut. If it covered everything, it was so tight that it clung to her like a second skin. The bottoms were just as bad; too short, too tight, or both. Bella folded each item and placed it back in the suitcase as she removed it, only leaving out one blouse and a pair of low-rise jeggings to wear the next day.

Bella opened the smallest suitcase next. It was filled with underwear, bras and dainty negligees. Everything was of the highest quality. All the tags had been removed, but they were all like-new. She pulled out piece after piece of silk and lace in varied shades of blue, black, white and gray.

"How very monochromatic. Mister Cullen must like blue."

"Hmm," he responded non-committally.

Bella picked up one of the lacy bras and looked over at Masen. His phone was balanced on his knee and he was watching her carefully. Gathering her courage, she unclasped her bra and let it drop to the floor, then stepped out of her underwear. She kept her eyes down but she could feel his gaze on her. She put on the matching underwear first, then put her arms through the bra straps and fastened it in front. The lingerie was a gorgeous, pearlescent blue with tiny white flowers worked into the lace. It was designed to be looked at, but it was also surprisingly soft against her skin. The only problem was that the cups were too small. Bella bit her lip in frustration as she tried to position herself more comfortably. No matter what, her breasts were pushed together and up, bulging over the top of the bra.

"Seriously? I thought I went through that humiliating 'measure every inch of Bella's body' session to avoid this problem!"

Masen chuckled softly. "It fits perfectly."

"No. It does not. My boobs are practically popping out of this thing!"

"Exactly. Do you think Edward Cullen gives a shit about Marie's comfort? Her body is for his pleasure, both tactile and visual."

"They're all like this?"

"I'm afraid so."

"You suck."

"A foolproof cover is made up of details like this. Subtleties work on the subconscious mind. To Mr. Cullen, Marie is an object and he positions her body to show it to its best advantage. According to his preferences, of course. He approaches her wardrobe like a collector hanging art on the wall. The painting does not care how it is hung or what kind of lighting is used. It hangs for the owner's pleasure. Anyone who sees her also sees reflections of him. He's a ruthless, cold-blooded criminal. He is proud, egotistical, self-centered, misogynistic. . . and has very refined tastes. He was getting tired of hookers and escorts. Marie. . . well, to him she's just a living doll he bought to play with so he wouldn't have to share anymore."

Bella folded her arms across her middle and shivered. Masen was describing a monster. A week ago, she had met that man in person. She remembered him with a visceral fear that froze the blood in her veins. Edward Cullen. . . he had terrified her, cowed her completely, without ever raising his voice. And he was going to be her full-time companion starting the very next day.

* * *

_A/N: So. . . . Are you still a fan?_


	16. Chapter 16

_Unbeta'd because I can't stick to a writing schedule to save my life. Thanks for reading!_

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Bella woke up automatically at 6 am. Unfortunately, she woke up in the wrong time zone. She sat up in the giant bed and looked around for her partner. He had gone to sleep on the pull out couch, as he had implied he would to her dad, but they had left the door open between them.

Through the open doorway, Bella could see his face illuminated by the blue glow of his laptop. Didn't he need rest, too? She lay back down, wishing sleep would return. Despite only getting four hours of sleep, she wasn't tired. Her body hummed with energy from head to toe. Now that the day had arrived, she was ready to begin. Waiting any longer seemed superfluous. She wondered why Agent Masen had chosen 9 am as their departure time. Couldn't they get out of the city sooner? She wanted to be on the road immediately!

Rather than disrupt him while he was working, Bella mulled over the events of the last 24 hours. Almost an hour passed before she heard Masen's laptop close with a metallic click. She listened to the sofa bed creak as he shifted around, then settled down and was quiet. Eventually, the stillness and silence of the room calmed her. She slipped back under and didn't stir again until sunlight filled the room.

Masen sat down on the edge of the bed and clapped his hands. "Wake up, wake up. Breakfast is here."

"Ugh. I was afraid you were going to make me run," Bella groaned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Nope. We can run another time. Right now, we need to eat and get moving on a few things. I'll go over them with you."

Bella shuffled out of the bedroom and sat at the table which was, as he had promised, already loaded down with an assortment of breakfast foods. She went for the coffee first.

"Did you sleep okay?" he asked, watching her intently.

"Small talk? Seriously?"

"Hey, it was a legitimate question."

Bella scowled at him over the rim of her mug before lowering it and replying. "Yes, I slept quite well. Did you?"

"Like a baby."

"After you got off the computer at 4 am."

"It was 7 pm in Hong Kong."

"That's not an answer."

"What was the question?" Masen winked at her and grinned, his mood as cheerfully manic as it had been when SAC Mahardy first signed off on their budget for the mission days earlier.

She looked skeptically down into her half empty mug. "Is this coffee safe to drink?"

"It's a little late to be asking that, don't you think? Finish eating. We have stuff to do."

Despite her misgivings, his energy was contagious. Bella quickly ate her fill then helped him carry the dishes out to the hallway for the maid to collect. He hung the 'Do Not Disturb' sign from the door knob, then shut it and turned the deadbolt. They reassembled the couch, then Bella refilled her mug and sat cross-legged on one end and waited for her partner to lay out the first steps of their plan.

"Your final duties as Mr. Cullen's assistant will be to settle the bill for the room and take his car to be detailed. Here's the address," he said as he handed her a slip of paper. "Pack a change of clothes for Marie. The ones you set out yesterday are perfect."

"And people won't think it's strange that your assistant spent the night with you?"

"You're young and gorgeous. He's wealthy and powerful. They won't ask questions because they think they already know the answer. Now, from the detail shop, it's three blocks to this apartment," he continued, handing her a key ring and a sealed, postmarked envelope with a North Seattle address on it. "You'll find the rest of your instructions in the mustard bottle in the refrigerator."

"The mustard bottle? You're joking, right?"

"Have you ever seen a fridge that didn't have a dozen open condiments stored in it?"

She paused before answering, "No. Not when somebody's living there, at least."

"Invisibility in plain sight."

"That's absurd. There must be dozens of better places to hide my instructions."

"Okay, fine. You're right," he laughed. "I was just curious if you would buy it. Your instructions are taped to the inside of the mailbox in the lobby. Put that envelope in and take your instructions out."

"I need to find a way to turn my 'I'm naive and gullible' look to my advantage," Bella laughed along with him. It was fascinating to see this more light-hearted side of her partner. "So, why am I taking so many precautions? Do you think we're being watched already?"

"I always think I'm being watched. Besides, the apartment is a CIA safehouse, and I don't trust spies."

"Says the pot about the kettle. Why is the CIA helping us out?"

"I know a guy. He owes me a favor from a job we worked on together down in Texas once."

"Anyone I'll ever meet?" Bella was curious. Were Agent Masen's former associates like him? Or was he an original, one-off production?

"Probably not. Hopefully not. Anyway, that's pretty clear, right?"

"Sure. It sounds like your usual inexplicably convoluted manner of doing things. Yeah. I can handle it."

"Great! Mr. Cullen will retrieve Marie from that address at 2 pm."

"Wait. What's in this envelope?"

"Don't worry about it."

It took her a moment to realize her mouth was hanging open again. She shut it with an audible clack of her teeth. "Did you steal it?"

"If I did, somebody needs to give it back," he shrugged. "It seemed like a safe way to give you the address of the safehouse. If somebody finds that, they'll see a piece of misplaced mail and take it to the post office."

"I'm carrying around a piece of stolen mail that was sent to a CIA safehouse and you shrug it off like it's nothing. Couldn't you just tell me the address?"

"You barely remembered a last name that started with your own last name. I'm not going to be there looking out for you today. I was hedging my bets."

Fighting an embarrassed blush, Bella shook her head and went to have a shower. His attitude was mystifying. Actually, everything about him was mystifying. She dressed in her suit from the day before, wearing it over a blouse and underwear from Marie's luggage. Fixing her hair and makeup was already beginning to feel routine. At close to 9 o'clock she started organizing her luggage.

"Wait, leave those here," Masen interrupted her, pointing to the bags she had brought on the plane as Abigail Swanson.

Bella stopped what she was doing and cocked her head to one side. "I have stuff for four different people. You're gonna have to help me straighten out what is what."

"You're right. Okay. Ditch Bella Swan and the college kid. Keep the suit, purse and jewelry you're wearing right now. I'll take care of them this afternoon. We can put Marie's jewelry case in your suitcase with your toiletries. There. Perfect. Now you just need to call down to the front desk and they'll send somebody to pick it all up."

"What about you?" she asked. Her head was swimming.

"I'll be out of here in a few minutes."

"And I'll see you at 2?"

"That's right. Any other questions?"

Bella took a deep breath then let it out and shook her head. The next few steps were simple enough. At least he was easing her into her role. Sort of. Agent Masen disappeared into the bathroom while she called down for help with the luggage. When she heard the knock at the door a few minutes later, she put on her best no-nonsense expression, showed the bellhop which items to load onto his cart and left the suite without looking back. The fact was, she was going to miss Masen, even if he did drive her crazy. Her breakfast sat heavy in her stomach. 2 o'clock was going to come way too fast.

Settling the bill at the front desk went smoothly up until she had to sign the payment authorization. She came close to signing her own name, but caught herself just in time. With a firmer than normal grip on the pen, she wrote 'Abigail Swanson', pressing hard and emphasizing the downward strokes to disguise her normally rounded script.

Carrying her purse with the envelope and keys Masen had given her inside, she exited the lobby and waited for the valet to bring the car around. She tipped the younger man from the stack of twenties in her wallet and slid behind the wheel of the convertible. She took several moments to adjust the seat and mirrors, trying to get comfortable while the hotel employee loaded her luggage into the trunk.

Bella squeaked in alarm the first time her foot tapped the gas and the car lurched forward. The valet smirked knowingly. Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment as she gently depressed the gas peddle and eased into traffic. She was used to a vehicle with about one fourth the horsepower. It took some getting used to.

She followed the route she had memorized to the custom auto detailing shop and suppressed a smile when two employees stopped what they were doing to whistle appreciatively at the car.

"That's some ride," one commented when she climbed out from behind the wheel.

"It'll be even nicer when you're through with it, right?"

"We'll take real good care of it. Give us a day and you'll be able to touch up your lipstick using the quarter panel as a mirror."

"You have until 1:45 today," she responded briskly and pulled the remaining cash from her wallet. It was almost $300 and she just hoped that was all Masen intended her to spend the money on. She didn't know if the credit cards were just for show or if they actually had accessible funds on them.

"That's a tight turn around. I dunno, ma'am. I'd love to help you but. . ." his voice tapered off and he looked over at his partner.

"That's $280. Cash. Take it or leave it." Bella added a bit of steel to her voice, staring him down until he shrugged and agreed.

"Excellent. My boss will be collecting it. It better be perfect."

"Let me just get the paperwork start-"

"No need. Just get it done," she cut him off. She popped the trunk, grabbed her suitcase and garment bag and extended the handle to wheel the luggage behind her.

"Alright. Alright. We gotcha. Do you need a ride anywhere?" he asked.

"I'd rather not. I wouldn't want to keep you from your work." She set off at a brisk walk in the opposite direction from her destination. One block later, she turned right and kept going, eventually doubling back toward the apartment building where she was supposed to complete her transformation.

Her feet hurt from walking so far in the high heeled shoes. The temptation to look around and behind her was almost too powerful to resist. Bella wondered what kind impression she was making on random passers by. If it weren't for the luggage she would look like any number of local professionals. With the garment bag and suitcase, people were sure to remember her if anybody asked. A nondescript gray sedan slowed down a few houses in front of her as if the driver was considering offering her a ride. She kept her eyes fixed on a point in the distance and willed them to keep driving. A few seconds later they accelerated back to a normal speed and she whispered a silent thank you to whoever might be listening.

When she reached the apartment building she was so relieved. She let herself into the air conditioned lobby and breathed a little easier. There was a bank of brass doors along one wall, the mail slots labeled with unit numbers. She peeked into her purse to verify the address. When she found the correct door she glanced around the empty lobby before inserting the key and opening the door.

At first she thought Agent Masen had been mistaken, or perhaps he was making another joke at her expense. The small enclosure was completely empty. She felt around the top of the box and found a slip of paper hanging down about a quarter of an inch from one corner. Careful not to destroy her manicure, she pinched the loose flap between her fingertips and peeled away the folded paper that had been affixed to the top of the metal compartment.

"Yes," she whisper-shouted with a grin of triumph. She dropped the message into her purse without looking at it, eager to get to the safety and privacy of the apartment upstairs. She was about to close and lock the door when she remembered the envelope Masen had given to her. She dug it out of her purse, stuffed it in the mailbox and was swinging the door shut when a strong, olive-skinned hand closed around her wrist.

The man spoke, his voice a low and seductive hum behind her right ear. "What do we have here?"

* * *

_Cat, meet mouse_  
_mouse, meet house_  
_round and round we weave the spell_  
_where we land_  
_we cannot dwell_

_-Rebadams7_

* * *

_Cruel and unusual. . . or maybe just unusually cruel. In any case, I do apologize. *Winks*_

_Thanks, Rebadams7, for the poetic interpretation of this chapter. I love your words!_


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: While the talented Ninkita was editing this chapter, I tacked on another 800-900 words behind her back, so any mistakes are all mine._

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Swallowing the sudden flood of terror, Bella shook off his grip, shut the mailbox and locked it before turning to face the interloper. He was not much taller than her, with brown hair and dark eyes framed by thick, black lashes. He was brazenly looking her over, so she did the same. His frame was muscular in that wiry way that long distance athletes acquire through rigorous, regimented training. His eyes reminded her of someone. It only took her a second to recognize the familiar calculated look that she had learned to associate with Agent Masen's gray-green gaze.

"Did he hire you? Was he afraid to come here himself?" The man's voice had a decidedly Spanish flavor to it.

"I'm sorry. You must have me confused with somebody else," she bluffed. "My name is Abigail. I just moved here a little while ago. What floor do you live on? Maybe we're neighbors?" She held her hand out to shake his with a sweet smile.

"Abigail. . . Abigail. . . No, I don't think so."

"Well, it was nice to meet you. Please excuse me." She slipped around him, certain he would reach out and grab her again. When the elevator door opened and he did not follow her in, she was relieved. She selected the floor two levels above the one she was supposed to go to, and did her best to stand patiently as the doors slid shut. At the last second she looked up and almost screamed when she saw a pair of dark eyes glaring at her inches beyond the space between the doors.

Her heart was pounding the entire elevator ride. She half expected him to be waiting for her when the doors opened. How fast could the second elevator reach the lobby? Did he know which floor she got out on? She looked both left and right, but the hallway was deserted. In a moment of inspiration, she swiped her hand down the control panel, highlighting all of the floors between her current one and the lobby, ensuring that one elevator at least would be out of service for several minutes. There were emergency exit signs at both ends of the corridor. She raced through eenie-meenie-miny-mo in her head, then scurried for the stairwell on the left.

She slipped through the door, yanking her luggage along behind her. When the fire-safe door slammed shut, she realized how vulnerable she was. The stairwell was a cement-lined echo chamber. Bella paused on the landing and held her breath for a moment, listening intently for any sounds of pursuit from below. She counted off the seconds in her head, breathing shallowly until she hit a count of two hundred.

When there was still no sound, she removed her shoes, collapsed the handle of her suitcase and carried everything down two floors as silently as she could. She couldn't tell if she was excited or terrified. The adrenaline pumping through her body drowned out all emotions, leaving behind the intensified senses of sight, sound and touch. Using the same master key that had opened the lobby doors, Bella let herself back into the building's interior. She could hear music and the sounds of pots clanging together to her left, and there was a muffled conversation taking place behind the next door.

Tip-toeing with her nylons snagging in the rough carpet, Bella hurried to the correct door, unlocked it and darted inside, her suitcase smacking against the door jamb. She cursed a bit as she shoved everything to one side, shut and locked the door, then slid the security chain into place.

All of the strength fled from her body at once, and she sagged against the door in relief. The feeling was short-lived. She heard low laughter accompanied by carefully metered applause. All the blood drained from her face. She flicked on the lights and looked around the apartment. Seated on a beige couch, with his feet propped up on an ottoman, was the man from the lobby.

"Abigail, huh? You're new. I assumed the bureau was putting Masen out to pasture. Tell me, is he really heading into the field again?"

Gathering her shattered nerves, Bella responded, "I'm sorry. Who are you?"

"Ouch. I am wounded. He didn't tell you about me?" The shrewd and calculating face morphed into an innocent, hurt expression.

Bella scowled at his pouting lower lip and chose not to reply. It didn't take superior deductive powers to realize this man was the CIA agent Masen hadn't wanted her to meet. The challenge was determining why he felt that way. She brought her luggage further into the apartment and looked around. It was a nice enough space. Nothing fancy, but not shabby either. The kitchen had formica countertops, and evidence of a recent take-out meal was strewn across the counter. The furniture was bland; there were no personal touches to speak of.

Walking around, she found that one bedroom was set up as an office with a printer and FAX machine, but no computer. The other room held a narrow bed and basic furniture. The bathroom was stocked with linens and toiletries; however it didn't appear to have been used recently.

"Judging by your response to my presence here, he didn't tell you about me, either," Bella eventually said, playing it cool. She was humiliated by her earlier panic and angry at the other operative for lording it over her. She couldn't save face, but at least she could do damage control.

He craned his head to look back at her. She had worked her way around the living room as she explored and was now behind the couch. Bella came up beside him, rested her hands on the back of the couch and smiled. His expression was unreadable for several moments before he finally returned her smile. There was little warmth in the expression.

Without warning, the man pulled a knife out of his pocket and flipped it open, his movements as swift and fluid as Masen's. Bella knew she had the high ground, both literally and figuratively. She was standing and therefore more agile. If she moved away, he would have to vault over the couch to reach her. Having spent so much time training with Masen, the sight of the knife didn't frighten her. She didn't even flinch. The man looked impressed, so maybe he was only testing her and she had passed. It was only a small step forward, but Bella was grateful for any opportunity to gain back lost ground.

The man held up a familiar envelope. Either he had a key to the mailbox, too, or he had jimmied the lock after she got in the elevator. With a flick of the blade, he slashed through one end of the envelope and pulled out the contents. He fanned the pages out across his lap. Bella recognized several photos. They were profiles from Tanya's database. Apart from their alleged connection to the Volturi, they had one other thing in common. . . they were all foreign nationals.

If the man beside her was CIA, as she suspected, these individuals and any international transactions were his domain. Was Masen sharing information with him as part of an authorized collaboration? Their mission objective was to find the thread that lead to the mastermind behind the trafficking ring. If the CIA was involved, then their interest was almost certainly political or financial. There had been nothing in any of their preparations to indicate that Masen intended to pursue international targets.

Nothing other than internet communications with someone in Hong Kong in the middle of the night. . .

"Did you know what you were carrying?"

"Did you know what he was sending you?" she countered.

"I suspected. Come now, there is no need to hold me at arm's length. Sit down, tell me about yourself. I am thinking that maybe I judged you too quickly."

"I'd rather not. I have stuff to do. Please excuse me." With his eyes following her every step, Bella took her purse into the bathroom and shut the door. She turned the water on at the sink to muffle any sounds, then pulled the message from her purse and unfolded it.

Ms. Swanson is taking an extended leave of absence. Her luggage and all other identifying possessions will be destroyed. Leave them grouped together in the bedroom. When you finish changing, take Marie's hair and makeup supplies and jewelry case to the north stairwell. Hide everything except the necklace beneath the stairs and return to the unit and wait for me. Marie is going to attempt to escape at 2 o'clock. She will find a neighboring apartment and ask to use their phone to place a 911 call asking for help. She will whisper, mumble, give ambiguous or conflicting information then hang up and go to the lobby. Edward Cullen will be waiting.

Bella pursed her lips and wondered how she was supposed to complete her transformation with the unexpected guest in the living room. However, if she was going to be traipsing about in her underwear in front of strange men in a week or two, now was as good a time as any to practice. She pulled out the phone Masen had given her and shot him a text.

~We have a guest. Thought you should know.~

Almost two minutes passed before she received a reply. ~Asshole. Who needs enemies. . . ~

~Nicely put. Although he is behaving himself. Sort of.~

~If he steps out of line, crush his balls.~

Bella grinned and responded, ~With pleasure.~

She shut off the water and exited the bathroom, taking everything into the bedroom where she changed out of her suit and into Marie's clothes. Through the open door she kept an eye on Masen's CIA friend. He watched her unabashedly. Unlike with Masen, she could tell he was thinking about all the things he could do with her. . . or to her. It made her feel simultaneously vulnerable and angry. She tried to think of calm and happy things as she changed, shimmying into the too-tight pants and trading her blouse for a sheer, off-the shoulder blue top.

She crossed to the bathroom and gunked up her hair with mousse before pulling it into a straggly bun. She spent more time on her makeup, glamming up her eyes and selecting one of her darker lipsticks. The goal was to make herself unrecognizable. She had entered the building as a professional woman, and she was leaving as a haphazard, sexed-up captive.

Even though she was taking her time, it was only a little after noon when she finished. She went to the kitchen and dug through the fridge for a snack. The shelves were empty, but sure enough, there was a selection of condiments in the door. For laughs, she opened the mustard and looked inside, but all she saw was yellow sludge with a layer of vinegar swimming on top. She snorted and put it back with a smile.

"Something funny?"

"I'm sorry. I almost forgot you were there," she retorted sarcastically. "Just an inside joke."

"You're a real firecracker. How is Masen going to keep you in line?"

"You're a real asshole. No wonder he's avoiding you." His dark, staring eyes were off-putting. She had no reservations about letting him know just how much she disliked him. Unfortunately, her annoyance seemed to entertain him.

"If you're hungry, it would be my pleasure to treat you to lunch."

She was going to turn him down outright, but she had given all of her cash to the guys at the detail shop. She didn't want to risk using the cards. She decided to steal a page from Masen's playbook. It had pissed her off. She was hoping it would have the same effect on the asshole. "Actually, that would be great. Thanks."

"What would you like to eat?"

"Anything works."

"Do you have a preference?"

"No," she shrugged casually.

He looked mildly annoyed. She sat down on one of the dining chairs, put her bare feet up on another chair and watched him. His eyes narrowed into a scowl before he finally gave her a begrudging smile, made a call and ordered Thai food to be delivered to the apartment. Just before he hung up, he requested they make it five-star spicy.

Bella licked her lips and smirked. He was a bastard. Fortunately, she had a high tolerance for spicy food.

While they waited for their food, Bella carried her kit downstairs as instructed. She kept up the devil-may-care attitude even after the food arrived and they began eating. Her host's eyes were watering, but he gamely ate half of everything. She was keeping a mental ledger of their points thus far. By her estimation, she was gaining on him.

Conversation was stilted. Neither was willing to give the other information, or ammunition, so they continued to speak in circles until even those generic words failed. Eventually, Bella excused herself to use the bathroom to fix her makeup. Behind the locked door, she reread the note and disposed of it in the same manner as Masen's last set of instructions. As the appointed time approached, it became progressively harder to stay calm and composed. The CIA agent in the living room wasn't helping. Every time she moved, he looked up to watch her. It rattled her no matter how hard she worked to shut it out.

A few minutes before 2 o'clock, a key turned in the lock, and the door slammed up against the security chain. Bella held the door closed, released the chain and stood to one side as Masen came in, looking like a millionaire in the same dark suit he had worn the day before.

"Peter. You came early," Masen fixed the CIA operative with a baleful look.

"That's what she said," Bella said quietly with a snort.

Masen's head snapped around to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

"What? You guys have this whole macho posturing inter-agency rivalry thing going on. It's stupid. We're both going after the same guys. You've worked together before. I don't see why you can't do it again."

"Because Peter here can't stick to a plan, and goes off half cocked whenever his emot-"

"Instincts," Peter cut in.

"Emotions get the better of him." Masen looked as angry as she had ever seen him. "Sharing information is fine, but this is our operation, Peter. I can't have you getting in the way and muddying things up. This is clearly under the FBI's jurisdiction. Besides, as I told you on Saturday, I won't hold anything back if I think it might be of use to you. Anything involving our friends in Italy or Hong Kong is all you. Just remember, it's not your life on the line if our cover is blown."

"How could I forget?" Peter asked with a sly smile.

"Excellent question. I think we all want to know the answer to that one."

"Gentlemen, if you're done circling the ring, could I cut in? We have a timeline to stick to. Masen, I'm ready to go."

Agent Masen looked her over, taking in the slinky, off-the-shoulder blouse and skin-tight leggings. Her hair was styled and her makeup was perfect. He pursed his lips, then nodded his approval. "You need different shoes and your collar."

Peter looked on as Masen opened his briefcase, and tossed Bella a pair of strappy heels. As she wiggled her feet into the shoes, he retrieved the black leather box that held the shock collar. When he popped open the case and pulled it out, Peter let out a low whistle. "Jenks?"

"Of course. He's the best."

"Gorgeous work."

"That's why we pay him the big bucks," Masen muttered. He opened the clasp, and Bella lifted her hair off her neck to allow him access.

Without warning, her skin broke out in goosebumps, and her hands started shaking. It was a completely involuntary response to having the collar around her neck again. The memory of fire scorching her skin was too vivid to ignore. When the clasp clicked into place, and the choker settled snugly against her throat, she let go of her hair and shook her head. The pressure of the cool metal was an uncomfortable reminder of the vulnerability of her role.

Bella caught Peter watching her face closely. He looked thoughtful. She scowled at him, then went to the bathroom to look over her reflection one more time. Her fingers rose up of their own volition, pulling on the collar as if it were too tight, even though it fit the same as it had the night before.

"Damn you, Masen," she muttered. She understood now, and understanding made it impossible to resent his actions.

By shocking her without warning, he had perfected her disguise. Any woman wearing an expensive piece of jewelry voluntarily would have an emotional, almost sensual connection to the piece. She had actually smiled last night, pleased with the way the necklace looked on her. Her facial expressions and body language now made it clear that the choker was a source of discomfort, if not pain. It repelled her.

The subconscious details. . . they were what gave her authenticity as a slave, not just an actress playing a part. Forget keeping a tally between Agent Isabella Swan and Peter the scuzzy Spanish spook. The entire time, Agent Masen was the one writing the rules of the game.

"Okay. Showtime," she whispered to her reflection.

"You know what you're going to say and do next?"

"Yep."

"Great. See you downstairs," Masen said with an encouraging smile.

Bella rolled her head from side to side, wiggled her arms and legs to shake out the nerves, and reached for the front door.

"Wait!" Peter called out. "You know my name. Come, senorita. . . it is only fair."

Bella allowed her shoulders to roll forward, transforming her back into a hunched, protective shell. She shuffled around to face him, her eyes darting from the floor to his feet, then up to his eyes, before jerking back down to the carpet. Moving backwards, her body always facing the greatest threat, she inched around the door until only her face and fingertips were visible to the apartment interior. In a cracked whisper she replied, "Marie," then she fled.

* * *

_A/N: Kudos to everyone who guessed the identity of the dark stranger. In your opinion, who came out on top in the end, Bella or Peter? _


	18. Chapter 18

_And now back to our story. . . ._

* * *

Bella had considered many different ways to 'be' Marie. When the moment arrived, she realized that the only thing she really needed was fear. No amount of makeup or clothing changes could simulate the real, pervasive animal fear of a girl trapped, abused and held against her will.

Recent experiences gave her the basic building blocks she needed. When Masen had activated the collar the night before, she had panicked. For several seconds she had been incoherent and irrational. And then, when Peter had surprised her in the lobby, her training was the only thing that prevented her from running screaming into the street. She had existed for many minutes in a place where 'fight or flight' and 'do or die' were more than just overused phrases describing the physiological manifestations of acute stress. Her body was primed to tap into every tool in the vast arsenal of animal instinct. The prize for escaping a threat was not a blue ribbon, a 4.0 GPA or commendations. The reward was simply the opportunity to live another day. . . to take another breath. . . to be.

And that was where Marie had lived day in and day out for years.

When she viewed the world through that lens, slipping into Marie's mind and body was not as great a challenge as she thought it would be.

Once she 'escaped' from the apartment, Bella slunk along, staying close to the wall, until she came to a unit with sounds of life emanating from the door. She looked furtively up and down the hallway, jumping at the unexpected sound of the elevator mechanism shifting and whirring behind her. She paused with her hand inches away from the door.

Normal people knock. They rap or pound or strike a door to create a series of percussive signals that speak to the tenants, "It's me. I'm here. Come and talk to me. Let me in."

Marie was not a normal person. She was an injured creature. Noise of any sort could potentially bring attention from an animal bigger, fiercer and more powerful than herself. So she tapped. . . quietly. . . and waited.

Nothing.

She checked left and right. The hallway was still deserted.

She tapped louder and tentatively tried the door knob. It didn't budge.

From within the apartment she heard the clatter of everyday life: music playing, male voices, laughing, footsteps, cabinets opening and shutting. She tapped again, but there was no response.

Animals fear attack. Open spaces equal vulnerability to attack. So they build homes: nests, dens, hives, houses. . . safe zones. The hallway was an open space. That meant susceptibility to attack. At any moment, the elevator doors could open and reveal the face of her captor. Any second now, another door could open and she would be helpless before a new, unknown threat.

She tapped louder. . . then she began to knock. With each escalating sound rolling out from her hands, her panic grew. Those sounds were a beacon to anyone within earshot, "I am here!", but she didn't want to be there. She wanted to be inside. Safe. Now. So she began to pound with both hands, sobbing, her breaths a rapid, gasping plea for oxygen to saturate her blood should she need to run. . . or fight.

The door opened suddenly. The shirtless, blurry-eyed tenant opened his mouth to yell at her, then froze. She was hyperventilating. Tears were streaming down her face. She covered her mouth with her clenched fists and shook, begging, "Please. . . please. . ."

"Oh my God! Are you okay? Come in! Shit. . . Guys! Guys? What do I do?" he rambled, his fingers twisting in his short, black hair. He stepped back to let her inside.

She checked her back trail - the door to Peter's apartment opened a crack - and slunk inside. "Please. . . help. Call. Call . . . I need help. He's coming back. . . back. He's gonna. . . He's . . . Help me." Her voice wavered in pitch and volume, projecting her terror and desperation.

Two more young men joined the first, college boys with baggy shirts and bad hygiene. The stench of pot hung in the air. A part of her brain reacted, but quickly dismissed it. After all, it was legal in Washington State now, and she wasn't a Fed today.

"What's going on?" one friend asked, scratching at his neck and squinting at Bella short-sightedly.

"Who is she?" The second friend was tall and lanky, with grey eyes peering through thick glasses. "Dude, Bansi, she needs help!"

"I know she needs help. She won't shut up about it. But what am I supposed to do?"

"Call 9-1-1!"

The three guys bickered, casting furtive glances at her. Their red-rimmed eyes were glassy, but the situation that had just fallen into their laps was starting to cut through the fog.

"Shit. Shit. Okay. . . here's my phone."

"Yes 9-1-1. Call 9-1-1. Help! He's coming. Please. . . I. . . I need help," Bella kept up her rambling plea.

The Indian guy - Bansi - offered her a seat on the couch, hastily shoving aside textbooks and a pair of dirty socks. One of the other young men dialed the emergency number on his phone and thrust it into her hands. She sat down, but never straightened from her hunch, rocking slightly with the phone cradled in her hands.

A voice rose up from the device, tinny and distant, "9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

Bella whispered through her tears, her voice cracking as she struggled to breathe, "He said he's coming back. . . help me. I don't. . . I want. . . Please. . ."

"Ma'am, it's going to be okay. You did the right thing. Stay calm. Can you tell me your name?"

"He calls me Marie. . . I don't. . . I don't like it. But 'no' hurts. 'No' hurts." The fingers of her right hand hooked into her collar, tugging fitfully.

"Okay. It's okay. Can you tell me where you are?" There was the sound of typing in the background, a rapid clatter of keys that was completely at odds with the operator's soothing tone.

"Please. . . help. He hurts. . . he hurts me. . . and I'm hungry. . . please."

"Miss, can you tell me where you are right now? Are you alone or is there somebody with you?"

"Bansi. . . Bansi helped. . . they called you. Thank you. . . please hurry. . . Mom said 'say please'. . . I said please. . . I said please. . ."

"Is Bansi with you?"

Bansi had been hovering just out of arm's reach. He grabbed the phone and held it up to his ear. "I'm Bansi. Hey, um, this girl. . . well she was knocking on the door and crying and asking for help. I don't know who she is. Maybe she lives here. . . I don't know, but she's totally freaking out and she keeps saying 'He's coming back' and-" he paused and looked around at his two friends. They were shuffling awkwardly, spectators on the fringe of the surreal scene. "Yeah, me and my friends were studying. . . Sure. . . I don't know if she's hurt. She's not bleeding. . . no she keeps rocking and talking and crying."

Bella had been counting in her head. The phone call had started 90 seconds ago. Bansi was reciting the address to the operator. A police officer may have already been dispatched to their location. It was time to escalate the conversation and make her escape.

She clutched at her necklace and whimpered, "It burns. . . he's coming. . . he's coming back." She wasn't whispering any more. "I have to go. . . go. . . Marie is bad. . . hurts. . . 'no' hurts!"

She stood, shaky on her high heels. One of the guys reached for her, a placating gesture. The terrified girl interpreted it as a threat. She screamed. All three guys stepped back in dismay.

"I have to go. . . he's coming!" she gasped hoarsely.

They didn't stop her when she ran. Bella made herself shake off their looks of horrified confusion. In a few minutes they would be interviewed by the police. It would probably be a topic for discussion and speculation for several days, but they would be okay soon enough. She knew she hadn't hurt them in any way. . . but it still bothered her. It had to be traumatic to their young minds. The sweet boys had only tried to help.

Bella burst out into the hallway at the same moment that the elevator opened. She locked eyes with a startled couple carrying bags of groceries. She looked both ways then sprinted for the green exit sign on her left. Bella clattered down the cement staircase, almost turning her ankle more than once. She was in full flight mode.

Had she given Masen enough time? It was a fine edge they were walking: draw attention, but don't get caught. This play was the first of many bread crumbs on a trail they hoped the Volturi would trace, authenticating their roles as captor and slave.

Bella practically fell into the lobby. A petite blonde was retrieving her mail. A twenty-something man was walking his bicycle into the elevator. They both stopped and stared as she stumble-ran across the lobby, out through the glass door. . . and into the grasp of Edward Cullen. His expression was murderous.

His hand closed over her forearm and all the fight went out of her. She sobbed and sunk to the pavement at his feet, her puny arms and legs no match for the powerful man who dominated her. He yanked her to her feet and pulled her toward the car waiting at the curb. She tripped and went down on one knee. She heard and felt the impact, but there was no pain. Not yet. She tried to regain her footing. He opened the passenger side door and thrust her into the seat, barely pausing to ensure her legs were inside before slamming it behind her.

His brilliant green eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, but there was nothing to mask the grim sneer that twisted his lips. He hopped into the car, the engine roared to life and they peeled out of the parking lot into the busy street.

Bella experience true terror as they narrowly missed several cars. Despite the screeching tires and honking horns, they made it to the interstate in less than a minute without further incident.

"You okay?"

Bella looked down and realized her knee was bleeding. Blood had welled up from the deep graze on her knee and trickled down her shin.

"Yeah. I think so." The blood was already starting to congeal.

"Excellent timing."

"Thanks. They better not have video cameras in the halls or lobbies."

"Of course not. Why do you think Peter chose this building?"

Bella nodded. It made sense. "The girl in the lobby. . . think she got our plates?"

"Old James Bond trick," he winked and pointed to a small dial beneath the dashboard.

"Oh, right. Of course. Any other cool gadgets in this thing?"

"Nope. Just the two of us."

"We are pretty cool," she said thoughtfully.

"Yes, we are," he agreed with a small smile.

* * *

_A/N: How did she do?_

_By the way, you can actually purchase license plate flippers on-line. For the low, low price of $350, YOU can be just like Jason Statham or James Bond!_


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Thank you for the kind reviews, PMs and emails. Sorry for the long delay. Sick kids, Spring Break, other random RL chaos, etc. Thankfully, all is well again in the NTF household. :-)**

**This chapter has a slightly different tone. More action next chapter. As always, thanks for reading! **

(I'm editing the next chapter for Mosaic, too, so that should be up in the next couple days.)

* * *

Traffic was heavy, but still moving close to the speed limit. Within minutes, they were slipping beneath the Seattle Convention Center, then falling in line to merge onto I-90. Masen's driving was smooth, blending easily with the cars around them. As they cruised across the floating bridge and up towards the foothills, the traffic congestion gradually increased.

Bella waited until the Seattle skyline was a gray blur in the rearview mirror before speaking. "East, not south?"

"The idea was to put miles between us and the sightings. If we had headed south, we would have hit traffic leaving Tacoma and again passing through the capital. Getting past JBLM is a nightmare in the afternoons."

"I see. And you timed our departure to ride the bow wave of the afternoon rush hour." As with all of his plans, it made sense once she saw it playing out. She was glad she had managed to rein in her impatience that morning. The first crumb in their cross-country trail needed to be big enough to get documented officially, but they had to be fast enough to slip between the good guys' fingers. They needed to get lost in a crowd for their plans to work. Seattle rush hour was a pretty big crowd.

"I had hoped. It seems to have worked. Fortunately there were no accidents to slow things down. It's still possible that we were picked up on traffic cameras, so we need to keep our eyes open for unusual law enforcement activity."

"Like. . ."

"Patrol cars at gas stations or rest stops, speed traps, cars parked on overpasses. If anything catches your eye, let me know."

Bella nodded her understanding and looked out the window. The Cascades were rising up around them, evergreen and stately. They were in the middle lane, holding steady with the pace of the car in front of them. 72 miles per hour with a full tank of gas. . . By evening they would be in another state. She wondered how long until she had to be Marie again.

"How far are we going today?"

"Coeur d'Alene. There's an exclusive resort there that rents luxury cabins. Very secluded. Very discrete."

"Secluded enough that Marie won't be tempted to run again?"

"Not quite. The cabins are close enough to give the impression of community, but they're far enough apart that any noises are subject to interpretation."

Marie was going to try to escape and fail again. Would she have to pull another innocent bystander into their madness? Or did Masen want to incite a more generalized concern without the fireworks of their first scene? "So we raise a few eyebrows. . ."

"But nobody will be confident enough to call the authorities. We'll have a plan in place if they do."

"It's disturbing that people are so slow to react when something horrible is happening right in front of them."

"From your point of view, yes. You were trained in a decision making matrix. You have weapons and combat skills that the average citizen doesn't. Even so, if you were not working in a professional capacity, and you saw somebody commit a crime, you would hesitate. It might only be for a split second, but you would. The animal mind gathers data before taking action. If the threat is immediate and personal, you react instantly. If the threat is directed elsewhere, you assess, measure and judge, then you act. If nobody around you is responding, it diminishes the value of your own judgement within your own mind. The more people who are standing around doing nothing, the longer everyone else waits for someone, anyone, to take the lead."

"Unless it's your job."

"Exactly. Possessing the authority to act makes it easier to intervene."

"Which is why we have law enforcement in the first place."

"Precisely. So, our biggest concern is somebody calling the police. We don't want to push anyone that hard. We want them to see us, notice us, but not feel certain that intervention is needed. Or if it is, we don't want them to feel as if it's their responsibility."

"Gotcha." Bella took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled with a loud whoosh.

Her knee had begun to ache. She slipped her feet out of her shoes and rested her heels on the front edge of her seat, wrapping her arms around her shins. The fabric of her leggings was glued to her skin with dried blood. Her knee was slightly swollen and the graze stung whenever she moved.

Bella glanced over at her partner, but his eyes were fixed on the road and his expression was blank. She recognized the closed off look and chose not to ask any more questions. Yet.

They passed another semi-truck. This one was bronze with bright green pin lines. The driver was wearing sun glasses and chewing gum. He was probably thinking about the miles ahead or the next gas stop, maybe deciding which diner to hit for his evening meal. Her own mind was consumed by much darker thoughts as they passed him. Behind them, she heard the massive transmission shifting gears to accommodate the steeper grade. She leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes, wiggling her jaw back and forth periodically as her inner ears adjusted to the decreasing air pressure.

"You can listen to music. . . If you want."

Bella eyed him sideways. "We're almost at the pass. I don't think many stations reach here."

"There's a playlist on my phone." He handed her the phone and she scrolled through the selections. She tried not to laughed, but ended up snorting, so she gave up on maintaining her composure and giggled outright.

"Are you going to let me in on the joke, or do I have to guess?"

"No, no. It's just funny. Edward Cullen is a miserable, pretentious prick."

"Now who's being cryptic?"

"Mahler, Bruckner, Saint-Saens, Shostakovich, Rachmaninov. . . all dark, brooding music and not a lyric in sight. You don't have anything light or fun on here!"

"Maybe I should have kept your first phone. It was packed full of Katy Perry and Kesha," he grinned. "We don't have to listen to music. I just thought you might be bored."

"We could always talk."

"Talk? About what?"

"I don't know. Tell me something about yourself." She set the phone back down and twisted in her seat to watch him.

"Like what?" His expression was cautious.

"Um. What are your favorite pizza toppings?"

He furrowed his eyebrows and replied slowly, "I don't really have favorite foods."

"Oh. . ." She licked her lips and thought of another question. "Well then, what was your favorite subject in school?"

"Science," he said without a pause. When she continued to look at him expectantly, he elaborated. "I liked to predict outcomes and measure the accuracy of my predictions."

"So you were a nerd."

"Sort of."

"Favorite color?"

"Blue," he shot her a crooked grin.

"Ah, the truth. I had a feeling." She laughed then changed the subject to something safer. "How fast can you run if you aren't making sure your partner can keep up?"

"Just under a five minute mile. I'm not as fast as I used to be."

"Holy shit," she gasped with her eyes wide. "That's really fast."

"For an old man," he tacked on.

"Yeah. Sure. That's what I was thinking, too."

They continued to talk as they came down from the mountains; Bella leading with easy questions and Masen responding with superficial tidbits of his life and history. Her instincts told her not to ask anything really personal. Nothing about his family or friends. Nothing about his reasons for joining the FBI or doing the type of work he did. No details from his previous cases. She was willing to wait before digging deeper. For now.

They stopped by a rest area where she cleaned the dried blood from her knee and fixed her makeup. Masen kept her within his line-of-sight from the car to the ladies restrooms and back again. Out in public, her movements were hurried and furtive. It garnered some strange looks. There was a woman in the restroom changing her baby's diaper. She looked like she was about to speak, but her baby started fussing, and Bella slipped out while she was distracted. Back inside the car, she relaxed again, but the easy flow of their conversation had been broken.

Miles passed without a single word or look between them. The powerful V8 easily adjusted to the steep grade as they climbed up the far side of the Columbia Gorge. Masen never let off the gas, maneuvering deftly around the slower cars and semi-trucks. Something about watching the other cars fall behind them, their drivers and passengers on completely different journeys, struck a chord within her. Bella finally found the nerve to break the silence.

"Tell me about Jacob."

"I'm not sure if that's my story to tell." Masen didn't take his eyes off the road, but she suddenly felt as if all his senses were directed at her. His shoulders were stiff, as was his jaw. He was uncomfortable. She had knocked him off balance. That set her own senses to high-alert.

"Tell me how you met him. He said that you were his protege."

Masen looked surprised. "He told you that?"

"So you were," she confirmed, nodding to herself. Jacob had given off an air of pride and concern that was distinctly paternal when he spoke about Masen.

"He's the one who introduced me to the FBI."

That revelation shocked her. She had assumed they had met within the agency. "Was he an agent?"

"He was a consultant then, as he is now."

A consultant. . . If Jacob wasn't ever a federal employee, what was he? What role did he play? "So, how did he find you?"

"He didn't. I found him." Masen's words were clipped. He wasn't sparing any breath, biting off each syllable as if it pained him to speak.

"Oh, come on. You can't stop there," she said when he didn't say anything further.

Masen didn't reply for almost a minute. His jaw was clenched shut and his posture was as rigid as a statue. Bella found herself holding her breath, afraid to make a sound. She wanted to know more. but she was afraid he would clam up completely if she showed any sign of impatience.

He finally spoke, his voice heavy and hesitant, "I needed help with. . . a task. I had heard that Jacob could help people transform themselves. Make themselves temporarily. . . unrecognizable. In certain circles, he had a reputation for being a shapeshifter. I wanted to see for myself. He had a salon in downtown Olympia. I staked it out for a few weeks, watching the people who walked in and those who walked out again. Most of them were normal customers. A lot of women. Jacob has magic fingers and the politicians wives loved him. He made them look better than their best." Masen chuckled in a hollow sort of way and shook his head, remembering scenes from another lifetime.

"He had a couple of unique regulars, though. People that I knew weren't just going in for a haircut or a blow dry. I knew that because they walked in, but never walked out. Not just once, but regularly. Most of them were men. I finally figured it out. This one guy, I later found out he was an FBI agent, didn't change his shoes. One of the laces had been broken and re-threaded so it was shorter than the one on the other shoe. That day, I followed him. He was operating undercover as a college volunteer in a state representative's office; part of a white collar sting operation. I knew he was the same man because of the shoes and a couple other subtle details, but it took another two or three transitions for me to see what Jacob had done. With a few changes to his hair, clothes and the lines on his face, Jacob had made him look 10 years younger and like a completely different person."

Masen went on to explain how he had walked in one morning and made an appointment to meet the salon owner himself. He had asked Jacob for help and gotten a rude awakening. Jacob charged hundreds of dollars to do a single makeover, and thousands to equip the client with tools and tips to do it on their own. When he couldn't come up with the steep fee, he got desperate. He eventually brokered a deal with Jacob, agreeing to tell the older man exactly what he was doing and why. Once he had heard Masen's story, Jacob agreed to teach him for free.

Bella was about to ask what the younger Masen had been up to, but his eyes narrowed slightly and she shut her mouth. Whatever it was, he had been driven to accomplish his objective at all costs. And, once he had told Jacob the details, the older man had agreed to help him without any further justification. That private mission had been the start of a relationship that spanned many years and dozens of operations. Masen didn't disclose any details.

Bella felt as if she was standing outside a locked vault. Of the other side of the reinforced steel wall was a complex and fascinating man. She didn't have the key or combination to open the door. She didn't know who he really was, but she was getting glimpses here and there. Each day gave her a few more puzzle pieces to examine and place. Each day added a bit more clarity and definition to the man who would soon hold her life in his hands.

Bella tucked away her other questions for another time. It didn't escape her that he hadn't asked her a single one.

The terrain changed from rolling farmland to scrubby stands of pine and undulating hills. The Rockies gradually rose up in a wall of dusky green and blue peaks in the distance. They would cross the bigger mountain range tomorrow. But first, Marie had another scene.

Bella looked down at her arms and wrists. Purplish fingerprints stood out against her fair skin where Edward Cullen had grabbed her arm. According to their plan, she would have more before the sun rose again. She took another deep breath and looked back out the window. In the game they were playing, pain was a necessary evil. It was as much a part of her disguise as the makeup and new clothes. For a moment, she wondered if it was harder to be the one taking the blows. . . or delivering them. Judging by the impenetrable silence to her left, it was a toss up.

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**A/N: I insert little tidbits from canon here and there in all my stories. If you see them and they make you smile, let me know!** :)


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: This chapter isn't beta'ed, but I like to think my comma usage has improved under the expert tutelage of the lovely Ninkita. Let me know if I'm delusional. Or not. :)**

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They passed through Spokane without stopping, although Masen carefully slowed down to match the reduced speed limit as they neared the city. The car directly behind them got caught in the semi-permanent speedtrap that snared so many interstate travelers every day. The flash of red and blue in the rearview mirror sent Bella's heart up into her throat.

She'd never experienced that visceral fear of 'the law' before. Growing up with a cop for a father, she had always been comforted by that sight. Those lights meant somebody was on the job, keeping the peace, enforcing the law for the safety and wellbeing of everyone else. She mourned the loss of that feeling. It was such a small thing. Insignificant, really. But it hurt to lose it. That innocent, naive burst of hope. . . gone. From now on, cops meant trouble for them and for their mission.

She breathed a little easier when they pulled off the interstate 45 minutes later. They followed the state highway south, their wide, low-profile tires gripping the winding, two-lane road. The scenery was breath-taking. She was feeling pretty confident about the next steps of their journey. Of course, the really terrifying stuff was still several thousand miles away.

Masen pulled off the highway onto a narrow, asphalt driveway. The lane was lined with ornate lampposts, carefully pruned shrubs and pockets of purple and white flowers. They stopped at a gate. The security guard stepped out from his post and Masen rolled down his window. He held out his ID and the fair-haired man took it, comparing the name to a list of preauthorized guests.

The man glanced over at Bella. His eyes paused with interest on her youthful face, then slid slowly down the rest of her body. Bella's reaction was completely instinctive - she folded her arms protectively across her torso. The movement inadvertently drew his eyes back to her chest. The corner of his lip turned up into a smile. He seemed to remember himself then, and jerked his attention back to the driver.

"Welcome, Mr. Cullen. We're glad you've come to visit again. Traveling alone, I see," he stated carefully.

"That's right."

"Cabin #28, just on the other side of the ninth fairway."

"I know where it is. Thanks. I appreciate your discretion," he said with a wry voice as he took his card back and slipped the guard a $100 bill.

"Well, you have a nice time." The guard took a step back, his thumb hooked casually in his gun belt. His hungry eyes darted back to Bella one more time.

"I intend to." He rolled up his window and pulled through the gate. "Asshole," he muttered.

"He didn't seem to have a problem with you."

"On the contrary. He was jealous. He probably sees rich pricks driving their foreign sports cars in here with their younger wives, girlfriends or escorts all the time. Men come here for two reasons. To play golf or to fuck around behind their wives' backs. It's a regular 'good ol' boys club'."

"And you disapprove."

"Actually, I don't give a fuck."

"You don't sound like you don't give a fuck."

He looked over at her, taking in her curious, searching eyes. "You are too observant by far. I'm annoyed because he took one look at you and knew exactly why a man like Edward Cullen would be bringing a girl like you here. And it didn't bother him in the least. He's probably going to drive home at the end of his shift, log onto his favorite porn site and jerk off to the idea of being in my shoes. It's perverse. And pathetic."

"He sounds like an number of other men."

"So maybe they're all assholes."

Bella laughed and shook her head. "I thought that was my line."

"We can share it."

"Hmm. That works for me."

She was still smiling when they pulled up in front of a gorgeous cabin. Her mind automatically classified it as a cabin because it was fashioned from rough-hewn pine logs, but it was nothing like the pencil drawings of Lincoln's cabin that she remembered from her American history textbooks. This cabin was two stories tall with big windows, a steeply pitched roof, a balcony that wrapped around most of the second floor and blue-gray slate walkways. It was a luxury, country retreat, not a simple cabin in the woods.

She looked around curiously as they got out of the car. A threesome was walking the fairway, uniformed caddies lugging their golf bags along behind them. Bella spied other cabins in both directions, and several across the expanse of manicured grass, all spaced about one hundred yards apart. Nobody looked their way. She followed Masen into the cabin, limping slightly on her sore leg, but relieved to finally be free from the confines of the Bimmer.

The outside pretended to be rustic. The interior was like a five-star resort. Polished woods, thick carpet, supple leather sofas and an ornate bar lined with top-shelf liquor. The dining area was elegant. The kitchen was set up like a gourmet cook's dream. A wide staircase led upstairs, but she naturally gravitated toward the kitchen.

"The fridge should be stocked. Help yourself to whatever you want. I'll unload the car."

"Okay," she agreed. It was almost nine o'clock and she was famished. The refrigerator really was well-stocked, and that surprised her. There were only two of them, and they only planned to stay one night. Bella poked around, looking for something quick and simple. Her tastebuds perked up when she saw a jug of orange juice. She suddenly realized how thirsty she was. She guzzled a glass of water at the sink, then refilled her glass with orange juice and topped it off with a splash of Grey Goose from the bar.

"Mix me one of those, would you?" Masen asked as he walked through the room and up the stairs carrying three suitcases.

"Coming right up," she replied cheerfully. This is so weird, she thought to herself. I'm at a luxury golf resort mixing a screwdriver, fixing dinner and plotting to overthrow an international crime ring. My high school teachers would never believe this.

It took Masen two more trips to get everything upstairs, then he joined her in the kitchen. She pushed a knife and a pile of vegetables toward him. He began chopping the salad ingredients while she seasoned two hand-trimmed steaks and dropped them into an oiled skillet.

"Where did all this food come from?"

"There's a restaurant on the other side of the golf course, but many guests prefer privacy. Anonymity is priceless. Some bring their own chefs, while others order food delivered to the door. This seemed like the best option for us."

"But we're not going to eat all of this."

"I reserved the cabin for three days. Just in case."

"In case of what?"

"In case our departure from Seattle didn't go as smoothly as it did."

"But we're okay, right? We're leaving tomorrow?" As tempting as it was to stay safely ensconced in a vacation cabin in Idaho, there was an insistent voice nagging at her. . . those girls needed their help. Yesterday. They couldn't delay. They couldn't take a second longer than was necessary to do it right.

"Better that okay. The APB went out at 2:37. A man with red or brown hair, late 20's to early 40's, between 5'10" and 6'3", weighing somewhere between 160 and 220 pounds, may have abducted a brunette between the ages of 15 and 25, 5'0" to 5'6", 100 to 130 pounds."

"130 pounds? Seriously?"

"Oh, come on. Some guys really like curves," he teased as he scraped diced tomatoes into the salad bowl.

"I'm 5'4". 130 would be a lot of curves," she groused. She carefully flipped the steaks, and the sizzle and pop of the oil and spices filled the room with a mouth-watering aroma.

"Ms. Swan, I think you're missing the point. With such unreliable data, there's no way anyone would match us to the descriptions. Even if they come up with a half-decent sketch of either one of us, they don't have names, missing person reports or anything else to go on."

"What about the car?"

"Black convertible. No plates, make or model reported."

"Ouch. The American people suck at observation."

"Easy there. It's not such a bad thing in our case." He pulled out plates and silverware while she popped rolls out of the oven and checked the steaks. They were a little bloody, but she was too hungry to care. Masen refilled their drinks, and they carried everything to the table.

"After we eat, we need to do some facial recognition training."

"Cool. I'm good with faces."

"And that's our problem."

Bella waited for him to explain.

"If you recognize somebody, you can't let on," he continued, gesturing with his fork.

"So I'll keep my head down."

"It's not always going to be that easy. Eat quickly and meet me upstairs."

Bella looked at his half empty plate. Half an hour to cook dinner, two minutes to eat it. She was surprised he didn't have an esophageal hernia by now. She pointedly chewed eat bite thoroughly before swallowing. She loaded her fork carefully and caught Masen staring at her. "What?"

"Your stalling."

"No, I'm digesting."

"Uh huh. Meet me upstairs in five minutes."

Bella grimaced but kept eating until her stomach and her pride were satisfied. She set her plate in the sink and took the steps one at a time. The second floor had an open bonus room with puffy couches, book-lined shelves and a writing desk. Four doors opened off the main room. Masen had his laptop set up on the desk with an open file full of photographs. He came out of one of the bedrooms blinking his eyes. Bella blinked, too. He had ditched the suit, glasses and contacts and was dressed very casually. . . in nothing but a pair of red boxer shorts.

"You never explained the contacts."

"What color are my eyes?"

"Green."

"No. Not the contacts. What color are my eyes?"

She really looked at them and then scowled. "How did you do that? Your eyes were green. Grayish green. I remember."

"But now they are. . ."

"Brown. Sort of. Hazel. I don't understand."

"I can't claim credit. My eyes are hazel, but they look a bit different depending on the colors I'm wearing and the lighting. Right now they appear brown because we're surrounded by dark, warm colors. Your apartment had white walls and CFLs, so my eyes appeared more green."

"So why the contacts?"

"Do they look natural?"

"Not really. Close, but they're a bit too green."

"Close enough to make you pause? Look twice?"

"Definitely."

"And while you're staring at my eyes, trying to figure out if they really are that color or if I'm wearing colored contacts, what am I doing?"

"Watching me?"

"Yes. But also, that split second that you are distracted by my eyes allows me to decide what to say or how to look. It's not much of an advantage in an introduction or confrontation, but you'll find that 'a split second' is just like 'a fraction of an inch'. . . In our line of work it could be the difference between life or death."

Bella's eyes dropped automatically to the knot of scar tissue that twisted and puckered the skin beneath his left collarbone. She nodded her understanding. And she realized that she liked him better without the contacts. She didn't want to be distracted. She liked seeing the shadows of thought that flickered across his features, even if she didn't understand them.

"Your suitcases are in that bedroom. There's an adjoining bathroom with everything you need if you want to freshen up before we get started."

"I'm okay. Let's go."

He offered her the chair in front of the computer and took the one beside her, but sat facing her instead of the screen. "Whenever you're ready, start the slideshow. No matter what you see, I want you to be relaxed and calm. Don't react. Okay?"

"Sure. It sounds pretty straightforward."

"Excellent. Begin."

Bella clicked on the play button and the slides began. They were full-face view head shots of random people. There was no pattern of age, race or gender. Each slide pause for three seconds, then automatically flipped to the next. After more than a minute, she was beginning to get bored, then a face appeared that she recognized. David something or other. . . she remembered him from one of Tanya's files. He was an assistant or a secretary to some businessman in Dallas.

"Stop."

"What? Why?"

"Stop." He sounded annoyed.

She clicked the pause button and took in her partner's stormy expression with a frown. "Why did you make me stop?"

"Because you can't follow directions."

"I did so! You told me to sit still and not react. I didn't move a muscle."

"Just because you don't think you did, it doesn't make you right. Hit play. And don't. Move. A. Single. Muscle."

"Fine." She was a bit pissed off. He was being temperamental. She hadn't so much as twitched! The slides were clicking through at the same boring, pedantic pace. She made herself calm down, breathing in and out in time to the slides.

Ten more passed, the eyes and noses, lips and chins starting to blur together. Then she was looking at Mary Alice Brandon and she gasped. Masen's hand slammed down on the desk beside her and she jumped.

"What the fuck!" she cried in alarm.

"That's exactly what I'm thinking. What the fuck? I said don't move. Don't react. If you can't control your response here when it's just you and me, how do you expect to keep your cool when you're surrounded by them?"

"I was surprised! I didn't expect to see her face staring back at me, okay?"

"Who's face?"

"Mary Alice's!"

"Who?"

"Mary. . . shit." She felt deflated. She couldn't let on to anyone, least of all Mary Alice, that she knew her, recognized her or was there as anything other than another slave. "Shit," she said again, only this time her eyes were burning.

"Go to your room. Take 15 minutes. Have a shower, wash the day away, then come back. We'll try again."

He stood and disappeared into his room, shutting the door behind him. Bella angrily wiped away the tears that clung to her lower lashes. She didn't need a break. She didn't give a fuck if she needed a shower. She wasn't going to flush all their hard work down the toilet because of an eyebrow twitch or a spasm in her diaphragm. She dragged the progress button to the far left, sucked air into her lungs until they burned, closed her eyes, blew it all out, opened her eyes, then started from the beginning.

When David's face reappeared, she looked through it. He wasn't David. He was just a face. A composition of skin and hair and other tissues that was identifiable as caucasian, male, late 20's. That was it. Just another face.

When Mary Alice's model-perfect features reappeared, she felt her own face respond. The tiny muscles around her eyes flexed, widening her lids. Her forehead tensed, raising her eyebrows less than a millimeter. Her nostrils flared and the corners of her mouth turned down. It wasn't much, but it was enough for her to sense it. And if she could feel it, she was certain Agent Masen would be able to see it. She was annoyed with herself, but she could feel it happening. If she could feel it, she could control it.

Bella let the slideshow roll on. Familiar faces popped up more frequently. She tamped down the part of her mind that wanted to catalog and record. She reminded herself that recognition was okay after the first meeting. It would be safe to look, think and draw connections once she had met somebody officially. They just needed her to get through the first introductions without giving anything away.

She was three quarters of the way through the slideshow when she felt Masen's hands on her shoulders. She tensed up automatically, but blew out the stiffness with her next breath. The photos clicked on by, a montage of flesh that held no meaning to her. Just faces. Everyday faces.

The slideshow ended and Masen squeezed her shoulders. "Incredible," he said softly. "You really are full of surprises. Feel up to stage two or do you want to wait until tomorrow?"

Bella looked up at him, then around the room. It was full dark outside. "Tomorrow night. We have other plans for tonight."

His hands lingered on her shoulders for one more second. "You're right. We do. Meet me by the front door in 10 minutes. Then we'll begin."

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**A/N: Last chapter I mentioned my compulsive use of random Twilight references. I can't help it. It just happens. For instance, I didn't realize that I colored a semi-truck bronze and green. JulieToo caught it. Wow! Other Easter eggs included Jacob the Shapeshifter (of course), Edward being a fast runner, 20 questions while driving, pizza (although we all love pizza, so that's a gimme), Edward liking her in a blue blouse, Edward's dark broodiness (Is broodiness a word? Oh well, it is now.), Edward's fingerprint bruises on Bella's arms (Breaking Dawn - nice catch, cctwilight!) and probably a handful of others. Yes, I'm a nerd and I love Twilight. And yes, it's 1 AM in Seattle and I'm highly caffeinated. Shutting up. Posting. Thanks for reading!**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Short chapter, I know, but it kind of has to be. More to come soon!**

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She found shelter behind a puzzle bark tree, the random ridges and lumps digging into her back. She held her breath and froze. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the light from the cabin. She turned her head slightly, strands of her hair snagging and tugging against the irregular roughness of the bark. Light suddenly streamed from the front door of the cabin. He knew she was gone. He was looking for her.

In that split second, while his eyes were still blind, adjusting to the pitch-black outdoors, she ran. Her bare feet were almost silent on the thick bed of decaying pine needles. She bolted behind another tree, pulling her shoulders and elbows in until she was thin as possible, invisible from behind the tree. With shallow, near-silent breaths, she peeked around the trunk. The cabin was completely dark. He was outside. He was coming for her.

The closest cabin was black and empty. She needed light. People. Help.

Looking both directions, she realized she was in trouble. The only lights she could see were across the fairway. It was dark beneath the trees, but the expanse of grass was lit by the silvery glow of a slivered moon and a million stars. If she tried to cross, he would see her.

She listened for sounds of pursuit - the snap of a dry twig, the shuffle of shoes through the undergrowth, the scurry of rodents fleeing before a predator. Nothing.

Her heart fluttered. . . What was that? Off the the left. . .

A man's shadow . . . or a low-hanging pine branch? It moved and her heart almost stopped. She strained her ears, but all she could hear was the rustling hum of the forest around her.

Far off to the right, a popping, whooshing, watery sound made her jump. Sprinklers on the golf course. The second she identified the sound, she bolted. She flew across the grass, slippery-soft and cool beneath her scratched feet. Panic gave her speed. She fled like a bunny across the open space, scampering, feet barely touching the ground. The hawk was circling, searching, always searching, ready to swoop in and tear her tender belly open with its wicked beak.

She angled for the dark space between two cabins. 50 yards either direction. If he saw her cross the fairway, he would follow, but he would still have to choose. Splitting the odds. Fifty-fifty. She might survive the night. Fifty-fifty. Fifty-fifty. . .

Beneath the trees again, she melted into the black. From under the muffled hang of pine branches, creeping between the scratchy tangles of huckleberry bushes, she looked back. Nothing. The sprinklers burst to life directly behind her, a noisy shower soaking the grassy stretch. He would have to wait it out or go around.

She made her choice. Follow your heart. Left.

The cabin looked similar to the one she had escaped from, but quite a bit smaller. Single story with a loft. Lights were on, bright lights, and music. She was 30 yards away. Then 20. Should she call out? Knock on the door and ask for help? Sneak in and stow away until morning? She hovered outside the glow of safety, undecided. She only had minutes.

Somewhere behind her, the sprinklers shut off with a gurgle. Her ears tried to adjust to the new quiet, but her senses were jumbled. Maybe he was still at the cabin. . . but that was doubtful. Perhaps he was still searching the woods or the vacant cabins on his side of the fairway.

Crack!

She squealed when the branch popped less than five feet behind her. Desperately, she lunged for the light, but his hand closed over her upper arm. Her neck snapped forward and back, whiplashed by the sudden change of direction.

"Time to come home, little one," he spoke casually, the evil lurking oily and black beneath a false layer of civility. He turned her to face him. His features floated above her, ghost-white. Ghoulishly handsome. Almost demonic.

"No, no, no. Please, no. . ." she sobbed. She had failed. Again. And she knew he would not be lenient with her punishment.

His right hand snapped forward and she heard rather than felt his palm connect with her face. Ice bloomed across her cheek, but was quickly chased away by fire. She cried out and tried to pull away.

"Now," he hissed, pulling her closer. His clothes were soaked, dripping icy water down her front. She shivered from more than the cold. In that moment, she believed that he was going to kill her. He would squeeze the life from her, then bury her body in the forest beneath several feet of spongy, scratchy pine needles. She could already smell the rot and mold, the acrid stench of decaying pine needles, filling her sinuses and crawling down her throat.

Stunned, she allowed him to drag her along for several paces. But she didn't want to die. Not like this. She needed help.

She filled her lungs and screamed, the shrill, ringing cry of an animal in mortal danger. She defied him. She defied death.

A large callused hand closed over her nose and mouth. His other arm squeezed her chest, crushing the air from her lungs.

One scream. Just one. Did they hear?

The music stopped. An outdoor light came on. "Hello? Is anyone out there?" a man's voice called out.

She opened her mouth and bit into his fingers, catching her own tongue by accident, tasting blood, sweat and helpless terror. He let out a grunt of pain and tightened his grip, pulling her body against his torso. His chest was as hard as knotted pine.

Two figures stepped out onto the porch, heads swiveling, searching for the source of the sound. She pleaded with her eyes and mewling whimpers. A beam from a flashlight swung around the small clearing. The light was weak. Ineffective. She heard questions from the cabin interior. . . muttering. . . . a few more half-hearted inquiries. . . but the woods kept their secrets.

Minutes later the door closed. The light turned off. Silence returned.

Her hope drained and took her fight with it.

He dragged her on a path perpendicular to their original one. Her vision turned red as her body burned through the last of its oxygen. Her muscles weakened. He heaved her limp body up over his shoulders and walked, silent as a shadow, carrying her back into the nightmare.

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_For real_  
_For show_  
_As monsters _  
_Lurk sideways _  
_Angels fear not_  
_Above or below _

_-Rebadams7_

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**A/N: Thanks, Rebadams7. This little poem gave me chills. SO perfect for the tone of this chapter!**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Ninkita made it better. Thanks, Hun!**

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"Are you okay?" Masen asked, as he wrapped a handful of ice cubes in a damp washcloth and pressed it gently to her cheek.

She nodded and replaced his hand with her own. The skin was puffy and tender, but he hadn't hit her hard enough to bruise. Bella was sitting on the counter in the kitchen, swinging her filthy feet and watching her partner work. He was hovering beside her, sifting through a generic first-aid kit for alcohol wipes and Band-Aids. His right hand was smeared with grime, and dark red blood continued to ooze from a deep puncture in the pad of his middle finger.

Bella ran her tongue against her bottom teeth. It stung and felt swollen. His finger must feel even worse. He hadn't used his full strength when he slapped her, but she was beyond pulling her punches by the time he had clamped his hand over her mouth. She'd been trying to hurt him when she bit him.

Agent Masen washed his hands, grabbed another washcloth from the stack of linens he had piled up on the counter, ran it under warm water and began sponging her leg clean.

"What are you doing?"

"We need to treat these cuts." He was standing inches away from her, but he didn't meet her eyes.

"Those aren't cuts. They're scratches. Shouldn't you be doing something about your finger?" She lowered her icepack and reached for his injured hand.

"It's nothing. You have cuts and gouges all over your legs and feet. What made you go out like this? You could have at least worn shoes!" He grabbed her wrist and pressed the ice back against her face with a dark look.

"Stilettos in the woods. Ha! Are you insane? I didn't want to break my ankle."

He glanced up, saw she was smirking, and scowled. "Lace doesn't offer much protection from the cold or broken branches. You should have at least worn a shirt and long pants."

Bella looked down at the lacey blue shift. It was stained, wrinkled and torn. "It was almost midnight. Why would Marie still be dressed for the day? If she had the chance to make a run for it, she wouldn't stop to make herself presentable. She would just go!"

He didn't argue with her, but he didn't agree either. He rinsed the cloth in the kitchen sink and moved to her other leg. She almost stopped him, but the warm, damp towel actually felt good as it cleaned the sweat and grit from her skin.

On the other hand, the alcohol didn't. It burned like acid and she hissed through her teeth as Masen worked.

"Great job out there," he finally said.

"You, too," she replied softly.

He finally raised his eyes and looked her full in the face. He appeared. . . older. And tired. He'd never looked anything less than energized before, and she realized for the first time how much playing Edward Cullen was going to take out of him.

"Let me take care of your hand. Please."

"I meant it when I said it's nothing. I've had much worse." He stepped back and turned away.

"We can't afford to take risks, and you know it. Come back here."

He hesitated, but finally turned around and held out his hand. She set it palm up in her lap and got to work cleaning, disinfecting and bandaging the small wound. "You know what they say about human bites."

He chuckled wryly, "No. I can't say that I do."

"They say they're worse than dog bites. More bacteria. I mean, I like to think my mouth is cleaner than the average person's, but it doesn't hurt to be cautious."

He flexed his fingers experimentally. She let go, and he turned to lean against the counter beside her. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked again.

"Of course. I'm fine. Why?"

"I don't know. I guess I keep expecting that at some point you'll realize what we're heading into. And then you'll come to your senses and run away screaming. When you do, I won't be able to stop you. I won't want to. Because the fact is, the only thing worse than failing at our mission would be to let one more bright, innocent girl fall into the hands of those monsters. That scene tonight. . . that was tame. We weren't being scrutinized or video-taped. We weren't even certain anyone would react or have the guts to come outside and investigate. Thirty minutes, if that, and here we are, back inside, safe and secure. This is a luxury that we won't have a week or two from tonight. So, I guess I'm saying, if it's too much, get out now. I won't make you stay."

"Masen, I need to do this. We need to do this. We're the only ones who can. We're going to shut those bastards down once and for all." Her voice was strong. She knew she was right, and she needed him to share her conviction.

"As long as you're sure."

"Not a single doubt."

"Okay, then." He raked his hands through his hair, dislodging pine needles and bits of lichen. "Let's get some sleep."

Bella slipped off the counter carefully, pleased that her feet were only a little sore. She dropped the dripping washcloth in the sink and prodded her cheek and jaw gently with the pads of her fingers. It didn't feel too bad.

"Do you think they called anyone?" she asked as she wiped up the worst of the dirt and water from the floor.

"I didn't see any headlights arrive or leave, and their lights turned off a few minutes ago. My guess is that they are all in bed sleeping off their booze right now."

She peered out of the window and across the golf course. Sure enough, the landscape was dark.

It had been a very long day, but she didn't feel tired yet. Her body was still humming with the adrenaline that the second botched escape scene had unleashed. However, she knew she needed to sleep and allow her body to begin the healing process, to let her mind work through everything. A hot shower, some clean clothes and she would be ready to settle down. They turned out their lights and went upstairs, Masen following just a couple steps behind her.

"You know, you didn't have to carry me all the way back here. I could have walked."

"You were a bit dazed. Besides, if the police do receive a call and come out here to search the area, they'll only find one set of footprints leaving."

"That makes sense," she replied thoughtfully. But that didn't explain why he had shifted her from his shoulders to carrying her in his arms once they were out of earshot. The fireman carry was way easier. "Well, I'm going to grab that shower now and get some sleep. Should I set an alarm?"

"No. Sleep as long as you can. We'll wait to see what happens in the morning before we decide our next step."

"Sounds good. Good night, then," she said with a smile. He nodded and waited until she disappeared into her room before he went to his own.

Bella awoke to sunlight streaming into her bedroom and Masen laughing from just inside the door. She sat up abruptly, then realized that she was completely naked, wrapped in a still-damp towel. Mostly wrapped.

"Wow. Your hair looks like a haystack."

Her hand shot to her head where, sure enough, she discovered it had dried into a hopeless, snarled mess. "Oh my gosh. What happened?"

"Well, it would appear you got a good night's sleep," he laughed again, leaning against the door jamb with his hands tucked into the pockets of his khakis.

"I need to brush my teeth. Gross." Bella wiggled off the bed and scampered to the bathroom. She took one look at her reflection and burst out laughing. He was spot on with his comparison. She rewrapped her towel so she would have both hands free to vanquish her morning breath and her matted hair.

Masen came up behind her and took the brush from her hands. "Allow me." He picked a twig and a clump of moss from the tangles, dropped them in the waste bin, then began combing through the matted strands. There was a crease between his eyebrows as he worked, trying to be gentle.

She spat and rinsed, then started in on the other side with her wide-toothed comb. "I'm never doing that again."

"Fleeing into the woods?"

"No. Going to bed with wet hair. Jacob would have a heart attack if he saw me now."

Masen's lip curled and he shook his head. "I'm sure he's seen worse. And in some circles, the haystack look is probably popular. I must admit, I kind of like it."

"Ha ha. You're a real comedian, you know that?"

"Stand-up used to be part of the syllabus at Quantico. They stopped because of me. Said nobody could top my skills, so why try?"

Her eyes watered when she yanked out a particularly vicious tangle. "Oh, I'm sure. They've replaced it with barre training."

"Sweet. Maybe you can teach me some moves."

"Plies and high kicks. That's what this gig needs," she said, rolling her eyes dramatically.

"You never know what might be useful. . ."

"So don't discard. . ." She giggled and ran the comb from scalp to tip, pleased that they had at least managed to complete one mission successfully. "There. Way better. Thanks."

"Any time. Let's get some breakfast and spy on the neighbors."

Bella hung up her towel and dug through her suitcases for clean clothes. She shimmied into her underwear and a skirt, while her partner disappeared downstairs to forage for breakfast. She wondered briefly if he could cook, then shrugged. She was hungry enough that it almost didn't matter.

She looked over her reflection, doing a little turn to the left and right. Her lower legs were a web of fine scrapes and scratches. Her feet had fared worse. She had two actual cuts, and one was a bit red. She treated it with antibacterial ointment and put on a fresh bandage, then slipped several clunky silver bracelets onto her wrists. They covered some of the visible damage, but not all. Her left upper arm was a bit sore. A motley collection of bruises darkened her skin. Her left cheek was still slightly tender, but once she applied her makeup, there was no obvious damage.

"Good enough," she said to nobody in particular, then packed her bags and suitcases and headed downstairs.

Breakfast consisted of a mountain of scrambled eggs with too much pepper- she only ground her teeth on one fragment of shell, toast with smoked gouda melted on top, and orange juice- minus the vodka this time. They sat on the couch facing out across the golf course and took turns with the binoculars.

Shortly after they sat down, Bella spied a patrol car pulling up in front of the cabin they had fought outside of the night before. It was hard to make out what was happening through the trees, but she was able to make out two uniformed police officers and three civilians.

The men wandered around the exterior of the cabin for almost half an hour before the cops got back into their car and drove away. Bella was relieved, until she realized that Masen's knuckles were turning white as he held the binoculars up to his eyes and followed the car's path.

"Damn," he said under his breath.

"What's wrong? What are they doing?"

"Heading back to the guardhouse. Probably getting a guest list, if they don't have a copy with them already. Only seven of the cabins are occupied right now, since it's the middle of the week, but it's still going to take some time to interview everyone. Maybe they'll enlist the help of the guard to speed things up. I don't want to be here past lunch time."

"But this is good, right? We made an impression. That's what we wanted to do."

"Yes and no. It's a fine line we're walking. We can't let them see you." His eyes slipped down to the bruises and scratches that marred her skin.

"So I'll go upstairs and start the shower."

He looked thoughtful. "Good idea. Let's set the table." Masen rearranged their breakfast dishes to look like a couple had just finished a casual meal. He gathered the dirty towels and first aid supplies and threw them away in the bin under the kitchen sink. "Bring me a pair of shoes, a bra and one or two blankets."

Bella grabbed the binoculars and ran upstairs to fetch the props while he finished arranging the scene. He took the shoes and dropped them a few feet apart between the front door and the living area. He flung the bra under the coffee table and spread the blanket on the floor in front of the electric fireplace, rumpling it slightly. His head snapped up when he heard the sound of tires on pavement approaching.

"Upstairs. Quickly. And stay put, this will only take a minute."

Bella ran up the stairs, turned on the shower in her bathroom, then shut the door. She tiptoed back out to the sitting area and listened. There was a loud knock at the door - three smart raps.

Masen answered the door. "Good morning, officers. How can I help you?"

"Mr. Cullen?"

"That's right."

"You're vacationing alone, correct? May we come in?" The officer's voice was deep, with a hint of an east coast accent.

Bella heard Agent Masen pause, then let out an embarrassed chuckle. "Well, not exactly alone. Just. . . well. . . yeah, that's fine. Come on in." She smiled a little at the familiar sound of booted feet on hardwood. That's what her dad's footsteps always sounded like. "Have a seat. Oh, my God. Sorry. Let me just. . . I'll just put this over here. Sorry. That's just. . . Yeah. . . She's having a shower. I'm sure she'll be right down. Hey, can I get you guys anything?"

She bit her lip to stifle a giggle. He sounded like a bumbling, embarrassed version of himself. There was a slight nasal tone in his voice, and she could even imagine his twitching smile, shy awkwardness and jumpy motions. He was making himself appear non-threatening and it seemed to be working. The officers declined drinks but laughed at his discomfiture and settled onto one of the couches in the living room. She could hear the leather sofa creaking as they moved.

"We're checking into some reports of commotion in the area last night. Did you happen to hear anything strange?"

"Commotion? Nothing I noticed. But it is pretty quiet along this stretch. I think the more expensive cabins along the lakeshore are a lot busier. The views, you know?"

"Of course. That's what we would expect, too. But we actually received reports of a woman screaming last night."

"People could hear us? How? We weren't that loud! I mean. . . Oh, my God. Oh, boy. . ." he trailed off into embarrassed silence.

One of the other men choked out a laugh. "Uh, no. We're not talking about that kind of scream. Uh, more like somebody being hurt."

"Oh. Well. No, I didn't hear anything out of the ordinary. I mean, we have so many wild animals roaming through here at night, I guess I've learned to tune them out."

"So you come here often?" The second officer was speaking. His voice was slower and softer, an easy-to-listen-to tenor.

"A couple times a year. Just when I need to unwind a bit."

"What kind of animals have you seen here in the resort?"

"Oh, wow. All kinds. Bats and squirrels, raccoons, lots of birds. I saw a rabbit get taken by an owl one evening while I was out walking. It screamed so loud it gave me chills. I stay inside now after dark. And the bears! Not so much down here, but up north a ways the bears are fearless around people. Mountain lions, too. Hey, do you think they heard a mountain lion? I read somewhere that when they cry it sounds like a woman screaming." He was rambling a bit, eager to help, sounding nerdier by the second.

"We considered that. The report was filed by a small group visiting from Oklahoma. Not nearly as many critters out that way."

"No. Probably not. Just the coyotes."

"Yeah, they've got plenty of them, just like we do. Hey, what happened to your hand?"

"What? Oh, this. It's not a big deal. My dog bit me. Her previous owner didn't understand how to enforce boundaries, but I'm training it out of her."

"Ouch. I hope it heals up fast. Well, we really appreciate you taking the time to chat with us. If you or your lady friend hear or see anything suspicious, make sure you call it in. You never know."

"Absolutely," he assured them.

"Nice car you got out there," deep voice said when they got to the front door.

"Thanks. She's my baby." He spoke in that proud, affectionate voice that so many men use when speaking about their cars, boats or motorcycles.

"She's a beauty, alright. Well, enjoy the rest of your visit, okay Mr. Cullen?"

"I will. Absolutely. Have a great day, officers."

Bella waited until the door closed and she heard the patrol car pull away before she shut off the shower and headed downstairs. Masen was washing the dishes. She stepped up beside him, taking the dripping plates, wiping them dry and replacing them in the cabinets.

"Are we in the clear?"

"I think so."

"Do you think they bought the wild animal theory?"

"Maybe. Probably. Unless they did see footprints in the woods. They didn't seem to have a lot of confidence in the guys who made the initial report, but they'll still have to complete an assload of paperwork. It'll all get filed in their report, including the names of all the guests that they interviewed. They looked the other way about me having an unregistered guest, because that's not out of the ordinary, but if they're good cops they'll include it in their report."

"Good. What next?"

"We need to cover some ground. I want to hit Sheridan tonight, then we'll have a long haul clear through to Chicago the next day."

Bella untangled a strand of her hair that had caught in her collar. "Okay. I'll grab my suitcases."

"Oh, and Ms. Swan?"

"Yes?" she asked, pausing on the steps.

"This time, I get to ask the questions."

* * *

_The fine edge of just enough_  
_Master of miss direction_  
_Slipping in and out_  
_Another's skinned_  
_To battle dragons_  
_Snatch back _  
_The treasured_  
_Who lie within_

_-Rebadams7_

* * *

_A/N: I've had a handful of readers ask about my update schedule. Bwahahahaha. Schedule? You guys are hilarious. My life makes a madhouse look tame. My goal is to update each story at least once per week. Sometimes that doesn't happen. I wish it wasn't so, but with 4 kids - my youngest has severe allergies and lots of developmental challenges, my freelance writing - yes I am completely broke and have to bring in some $$ somehow, and all the other stuff that comes along with being human - periodic showering/eating/sleeping/etc. I don't have nearly as much time to devote to reading and writing as I would like. I pretty much update when I can, as often as I can, as soon as the chapter is ready to post. I know that can be frustrating (I read ff too), but that's just my life. Taking that into consideration, I am SO grateful for everyone who is reading, rec'ing, reviewing, grinding their teeth, shaking their fists, discussing, lurking or even venting. :)_


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: Sorry for the delay! We are migrating slowly across the northern United States. Thanks for riding along!_

_Points to Capricorn 75 for noticing the 'haystack hair' reference in Chapter 22. Another reader suggested Twilight Bingo. That would be fun!_

* * *

"What are you afraid of?"

The first question came after they had rejoined the interstate, filled up the gas tank and were another 20 miles down the road.

"What am I afraid of? That's an awfully broad question."

"What are the first things that come to mind?"

"Spiders. Pigs. Drowning."

"Pigs?" he asked with a sideways glance.

"I know that's a weird one. Most people say clowns or heights, but I hate pigs. I read a news story once where a serial killer was disposing of bodies by feeding them to his pigs. I don't know why, but it stuck with me. I have this recurring nightmare of being trapped in a muddy corral with these massive hogs. I try to climb over the fence, but my foot slips. I fall in the mud and I can feel it sucking me down like glue. I hear their hungry grunting, slurping sounds right above me, then I wake up." She shivered despite the sunny day. Even in daylight the dream had the power to envelop her in the horrific sounds and smells.

"Okay. Pigs. Anything else?"

Bella thought hard. Fear wasn't an emotion she wasted much time on. If there was a threat, she preferred to spend her energy on finding a way to fight it, neutralize it or escape from it. Fear made all of those paths more difficult. The worst part about her recurring nightmare was the feeling of helplessness. The inevitability of defeat. She was about to add one more item to her list, but she held back.

Agent Masen noticed. Of course. "What is it?" he prodded.

"It's not a normal answer, I don't think. It's just. . . I'm afraid of losing my parents, which is dumb, because there's nothing any of us can do about mortality. I've been afraid of it ever since I was a little kid, and I learned that being a policeman could actually be dangerous. We attended a memorial for a cop that was shot and killed during a routine traffic stop. My dad knew him from the police academy. Up until then, I think I looked at my dad as this invincible super hero. Nothing could hurt him. But then we went to the memorial, and the officer who died had a wife and two boys younger than me. I couldn't sleep for days after that. I was afraid that I would wake up one day and he would be gone, too. My parents let me sleep in bed with them for a week even though I was almost eight years old."

"It sounds like a reasonable fear. I would guess that most people share it."

"Maybe. Being an only child probably makes it harder. When my parents are gone, I'll be all alone. I don't have any cousins. My mother's older sister never got married, and my dad was an only child, too. I went through a phase where I used to pray that I would die first, which is pretty selfish, I guess. Or I asked God to make sure we all died together in a freak accident like a plane crash so none of us would have to cry." She felt her eyes watering and swiped them with the back of her hand. "Now I'm crying. See? It's dumb."

"I don't think it's dumb at all," he reassured her.

"Not even when it's something that people across the world live through every single day?"

"People live through unimaginable horrors every day. That doesn't diminish fear, it increases it. Your fear of pain and loss are a natural byproduct of caring about somebody. Unlike other fears and phobias, being exposed to the source of the fear only makes it worse."

"Are you speaking from personal experience?" She searched his face, but his expression was wooden.

"It's something I've observed." He didn't offer up any more details.

A few minutes later, Bella asked, "Aren't you going to ask me something easy?"

"Like your astrological sign?" he quipped.

"Sure. Or, oh, I don't know, basic trivia. You said you wanted to ask the questions this time, but I didn't expect you to jump straight into psychology and philosophy."

"Those are the only details that weren't included in your profile."

"And this is another one of those things that has been bothering me from the get go. What exactly is in my profile? And why do you get to read mine, but I've never seen yours?"

"Now who's asking the hard questions?" he responded with a grimace. "Your profile includes every documented piece of your history: education, finances, relationships, training scores and instructor observations, lie detector transcript, medical records. It's pretty comprehensive."

"Wow. Okay. Pop quiz: Who was my 2nd grade teacher?"

"Mr. Halloway, deceased. Commented that you were a born peace-keeper among your peers, but that you were rebellious and lacked respect for authority."

"I didn't lack respect for authority per se, just his authority. He was an old gossip. And he used scented lotion on his hands."

"Ha ha. I can see how that would knock him down a rung or two in your esteem."

"You really read that in my file?"

"That's just one detail that stuck out," he shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know what to say. That's really. . ."

"Creepy? Scary?"

"I was going to say impressive. I bet I would learn a thing or two reading about myself from big brother's point of view."

"That's one way of looking at it."

"So, when do I get to read yours?" She was applying another thin layer of antibacterial ointment to her collection of scratches as they talked.

"It's classified. Above your paygrade. Above mine, too."

"Wait. . . you can read mine but not your own? Why? That's completely ludicrous."

"I could make an educated guess. Or three. It's probably a combination of factors. Classification of past missions. Unfavorable comments from officials that hope I will still like them and listen to them if I don't know what they say about me behind my back. Or maybe they just want to piss me off."

Bella laughed, "Yeah, right. As if you give a shit either way."

"Exactly. But when you're mired in politics, being liked is as important as oxygen for survival. It warps the psyche."

"I believe it. Come on. Humor me. Ask an easy one."

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" His tone was playful this time and she was relieved.

She started singing the Toys'R'Us song. He responded by turning on the radio. Unfortunately, they were deep in the Rockies, and the first station he found was crackly country music.

"You prefer this over my singing?" she said in a mock-offended voice.

"I decline to answer pursuant to my fifth amendment rights."

"That's okay. I know this one," she said and started singing along, laughing as he grimaced. Bella preferred the light-hearted tone, so she didn't encourage him to ask more questions. But she did wonder about the only one he had asked. He wanted to understand her fears, but why? How did that detail play into their mission planning? And what did he really think about her answers?

They bought take-out after they passed through Butte and ate it at a picnic table in a small park on the outskirts of town. They stretched their legs at a nearly deserted rest area a couple of hours later. It was late evening when they finally pulled into the driveway of a beautiful hotel in Sheridan. Bella was not used to sitting for so long. She was antsy from being confined and couldn't wait to get up to their room so she could move about freely.

"Stay close. Be quiet," Masen reminded her as they pulled to a stop in front of the valet station. His movements became fast and abrupt, and his expression hardened as he slipped into his role.

Bella felt the thoughts, feelings and personality she knew as Marie swimming out from her chest to possess her mind and limbs. It was getting easier to feel her. When she was Marie, eye contact was almost impossible, she couldn't stand up straight and her movements were skittish, almost spastic. She tripped and slipped along behind her owner as he entered the hotel lobby and retrieved the access card for his reserved suite. He beckoned impatiently to the bellboy who was pushing their luggage cart. He didn't spare her a single glance.

Bella chanced a quick look over her shoulder to the desk clerk as they entered the elevator. The young man was biting his lip and watching her with a disturbed expression on his face. Yes he would remember them, and that was all they needed tonight.

Safely in their room, Bella kicked off her shoes, flopped face down across the bed and spoke into the mattress, "I hate traveling."

"Necessary evil. Food's on its way, then we've got some training to do. You'll need to take off your jewelry."

That got her attention. She perked up immediately. "Ooh, fun. Ball busting practice?"

"Let's not call it that, okay?" he groaned.

"No pain, no gain."

"Yes, well, that is the general idea behind everything we're doing."

Bella stayed in the bedroom until after their food was delivered. It was not nearly as good as the dinner they shared with her parents in Seattle, but she was excited to get to their training, so she finished her food almost as quickly as her partner.

They cleared the heavy furniture aside to make an open space in the middle of the room. Bella removed her bracelets, earrings and rings, but Masen made no move to take off her collar so she left it alone. They warmed up with basic calisthenics. Bella couldn't believe it, but her body was hungry for exercise. Even running sounded like a good idea at the moment.

Her skin felt warm and she was breathing a little hard when they took their places across from each other. Masen's arms hung loosely at his sides as he stood about two paces away.

"Up until now we've focused on a single kind of fighting: self defense against a lethal threat."

"Okay. What are we doing now?"

"We're going to explore other types of fights. If somebody attacks you with the intent to kill you, you're fighting for survival and that governs the risks and rewards associated with the fight. You might be willing to take a hit to gain an opening. A minor wound in exchange for a kill shot. By the same reasoning, your attacker's motives govern his actions. A kidnapper seeks to incapacitate, not kill. An unconscious body is easier to transport than a kicking, screaming victim."

"Like last night in the woods."

"Yes. Marie might have feared for her life, but he never intended to kill her, only recapture her."

"How do I tell the difference?"

"You can't always. In most cases it's situational. Chances are, if an attacker finds and confronts you without a weapon in his hand, he isn't trying to kill you. Not yet at least. If he has a weapon but speaks before using it, he has another objective. He could have dispatched you with a lot less fuss if he didn't warn you first, right? On the other hand, if you confront him, he just might use lethal force. In that scenario, you are the threat."

"So, no weapon or conversation means I'm fighting to stay free and conscious. A surprise attack with a weapon means I'm fighting for my life."

"You got it. Now, how will that affect my approach? And how will you counter it?" Without warning, he lunged at her with both hands outstretched.

There was no blade to dodge, no gun to grab, so she hesitated. At the last second she reacted on instinct, her own hands rising up to ward off the attack. Masen's hands closed around her wrists and he pulled her into a strangle hold. One of his arms closed around her upper body, pinning her arms to her sides, while his other hand closed around her throat with bruising force. She couldn't scream. She could barely move. Within seconds her eyes were bulging and her face and scalp were burning with trapped blood.

He released her just as her vision began to blur. "What did you do wrong?"

Bella was furious with herself. She leaned over with her hands on her knees and waited for the rage to dissipate before answering. "You tried to grab me, and I offered you the easiest target. My wrists. Damn."

He nodded. "What should you have done?"

"Made myself harder to grab. Forced you to shift your direction to break your momentum. Counter-attacked."

"Show me," he said with a taunting smile. He took two steps back, bounced on his toes a few times, then charged.

This time, Bella took a swift sidestep, pulled her arms close in to her sides, then ploughed into his arms at a slight angle. She heard and felt his knuckles popping as his hands crashed into her chest and shoulder.

He was too tall for her to head butt him. He was too strong for her to catch and hold him. Instead, she grabbed onto his forearms for support and swung her right foot hard at his left ankle. Kicking him was like kicking a brick wall. It hurt. But it also kept him off balance and slowed him down.

His right hand reached for her throat, so she continued to twist to the left. She swung her right foot back, spinning herself a full 360 degrees. She drove up and around with her right elbow, aiming straight for his temple. He ducked and wrapped his arms around her from behind, lifting her up off her feet. Now her head was at his level. She flung her head back, heard it crack against his jaw and saw stars. With his superior weight, he wrestled her to the ground where they lay panting.

"That was the same goddamn spot you hit me with the frying pan," he accused.

"The spot you made me hit you with the frying pan," she reminded him.

"Ow."

Bella started laughing. "Imagine how my skull feels."

His fingers probed her scalp and found the knot forming. "Yeah. Okay. We're even."

"Let me up. I lost. You caught me."

"I caught you because I'm that good."

"Easy on the self congratulatory speech," she scowled as she climbed to her feet.

"That was a compliment."

"What planet are you from? That was not a compliment."

He grinned up at her from where he lay on the floor. "If you think about it, you'll see that it was."

"Again," she demanded, shaking out the soreness from her shoulder and elbow.

He got up, circled around behind her and attacked. This time he subdued her in under two seconds.

"Again," she muttered, putting a few more feet between them.

Two minutes later. . . "Again."

And "Again."

When they finally moved from physical fighting to theory and strategy, her body was battered. But so was his. And he was right. . . it was fun.

* * *

_A/N: I need a couple volunteers to teach Agent Masen some humility. Any takers?_


	24. Chapter 24

_A/N: Agent Masen better beware. There's an army of twilight fans armed with tasers, handcuffs and wooden spoons setting out to teach him some humility! Stick together, ladies. You might have a chance._

_Last chapter had a lighter tone. It's over now. If you aren't up for the dark and heavy, now's the time to stop reading, because there isn't going to be sunshine for a very long time. This is my last disclaimer. Several readers have decided not to continue reading and I completely understand. It's absolutely okay by me. I appreciate each and every one of you for giving this fic a try!_

* * *

"One more thing, then we need to get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

Masen retrieved his laptop from their luggage, pulled two chairs around to face each other, then motioned for Bella to sit down. She looked on as he opened another slideshow similar to the one they had used to practice masking facial recognition the night before. Masen rested the computer on his lap facing her, then scooted his chair closer until their knees were touching.

"Is this stage two?"

"That's right."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"You're supposed to recognize the people you should know, but not the ones you don't."

"Okay. Who am I supposed to know?"

"Celebrities and political figures that a nine-year-old might be familiar with from the time of Bree Tanner's disappearance, her family members, neighbors and teachers. And your former owners, of course."

"We're close enough in age, and I remember the big names from when I was in middle school, but the rest of it seems unrealistic. I'm good with faces, but not that good."

"You don't need to be that good. She's been missing for eleven years. Apart from her those people who were closest to her, a familiar face might only spark a minimal reaction. The first part of the slideshow includes pictures of her best friends and family members at the time of her disappearance. The way she would remember them. The second set of photos are pictures of Marie's previous owners. Don't worry, they're both dead. Edward Cullen will supply their names and a few anecdotes they shared with him about their time with her. They aren't around to set the record straight. The final set is the real challenge. They'll be mixed in with the pictures from yesterday."

"I don't know, Masen. This feels like a bit of a stretch. Do you really think they'll feel the need to test me like this?" She shifted in her seat, trying to imagine a scenario where the Volturi would shove pictures in her face to get a reaction. It seemed far-fetched at best.

"It's what I would do. They'll be testing both of us constantly. Think of the Volturi as a terrorist cell. They know the authorities want to infiltrate their ranks. Anyone who invites himself in is going to be immediately suspect. Couple that with our unique dynamic, and they are going to want tangible evidence that we aren't a threat before revealing anything incriminating to me."

"What do you mean by 'our unique dynamic'?"

"A lot of these men share girls like they share a bottle of cognac. Far too freely. Then they like to talk about the experience and compare vintages. It's disgusting. Edward Cullen will not share under any circumstance. However, without that parity, that mutual exchange of perverted camaraderie, they'll feel the need to dig deeper before accepting him as one of them."

"Deeper into both characters' lives."

"Yes," he confirmed. "Now, let's begin."

Each of the photos in the first segment had a caption with the name, relationship and some basic information about the person. Many of the faces were familiar from her previous study of Bree Tanner's life. Seeing Bree's loved ones, imagining their grief and longing as hope for her safe return faded year by year, brought tears of anguish to her eyes.

The hardest of all was Bree's little brother Brennan. He was missing one of his front teeth. In the first picture, he was grinning at the camera and his little pink tongue was pushing at the gap. He had sandy blonde hair, brown eyes, freckles and a dimple in his left cheek. He was adorable.

He would be about 16 years old now. Bella wondered if he remembered his sister. How badly was he scarred by her loss? He didn't just lose his sister when Bree disappeared. He lost his happy, carefree existence. His parents lost their peace of mind, and he gave up his childhood innocence. The search for Bree had lasted for months. They held a vigil on her birthday and the date of her disappearance every year. When she went missing, that became his new status quo. The injustice and the pain made her too angry to breathe.

Bella felt Masen scrutinizing her as she studied the pictures. When she reached the blank slide at the end of the set, she wordlessly restarted the slideshow. She tried to put herself in the place of a 9-year-old girl. Third grade, annoyed when her little brother bugged her friends. Sleepovers, Barbies, roller skating and playing at the pool during the summer. She imagines scenes and interactions with each of Bree's friends and family members. She layered each scene with emotions as complex as her own. When she reached the blank slide for the second time, she looked up at Masen and nodded.

She used the same method to ingrain the next two people in her mind. However, in place of scenes from a normal childhood, she filled her thoughts with pain, revulsion, confusion and despair. She felt herself wincing with each new picture as nightmare visions cascaded through her mind. Every story of human suffering, violence and degradation she had ever read or heard became material to construct Marie's own horrific past at the hands of her captors. By the time the slideshow paused again, Bella was shaking.

"Do you need to take a break?" her partner asked softly.

"No. Let's continue while it's fresh."

"You're the boss," he replied.

Bella tried, but couldn't maintain the same level of detachment that she had the night before. However, she quickly realized that she didn't need to. The vivid emotions bubbling beneath her skin did the work for her. She couldn't help flinching whenever one of the two criminals appeared on the screen. And she couldn't stop her eyes from widening or her torso from leaning in whenever one of Bree's loved ones appeared. She didn't have Bree's memories, but she had hundreds of new-made scenes in her head that were strong enough to affect her physically and emotionally in response to a visual cue.

With her peripheral vision she saw Masen lift his hands. His fingertips rested on her temples, cheeks and jaw, feeling the muscles moving subtly beneath her skin while the final photos slipped by.

"I think you missed your calling. You should have been an actress."

"And done what? Auditioned for a soap opera?" she joked, looking up from the screen when the final picture faded away.

"You would have been wasted on daytime television. No, you could be a female action hero. Teach the boys what a real punch looks and feels like."

"What, did I hurt you?"

"I think you bruised my ribs," he moaned theatrically, holding his side.

"Yeah, right. How about your pride?"

"My pride is intact. Actually, it's more than intact. It's growing."

"Aww, shucks. I think that might actually be a legitimate compliment," she smiled, feeling the blush of pride warm her own cheeks.

"Don't get used to it. We've got a long road ahead of us. You're going to fuck up at some point, and when you do, I'm going to ream you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Okay, rookie. No more smartass remarks. Let's get to bed." He closed his laptop and put it aside, then disappeared into the bathroom. A few minutes later he reappeared, minus the glasses, contacts and ninety percent of his clothes.

Bella took her turn in the bathroom and changed into the only nightclothes she had, one of Marie's lacy shifts. She started a little when she realized Masen was in the bed. As casually as she could, she turned out the lights and climbed beneath the covers on the other side. They weren't touching, but the weight and heat of his body were heavy beside her.

"We'll be on the road at 6 o'clock. When would you like me to wake you up?"

"5:30 is good. As long as we're getting breakfast on the road," her voice cracked and she cleared her throat.

"Okay. Goodnight," he replied. He didn't make a move to set an alarm. Either he already had, or his internal clock had a wake-up call function, too.

Bella lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, swimming gray-black and featureless six feet above her head. A small amount of light seeped into the bedroom from between the heavy curtains. The minutes ticked by, but she found herself unable to go to sleep. Her muscles ached and bruises littered her body, but she knew that wasn't what was bothering her.

"Masen?" she asked softly.

"Hmm?" his voice was deep and muzzy with sleep.

"Are we going to be sleeping together while we're there?"

"Most likely," he responded sluggishly.

"Is that something we need to practice?"

He didn't reply for several seconds. Suddenly he sat up and turned on the light. Bella blinked and shielded her eyes with one hand.

"What exactly are you asking me?" His words were clipped, with no trace of the exhaustion she had heard before.

"Do we need to practice the sexual stuff?" She was suddenly overcome with a surge of embarrassment. She hadn't intended to blurt it out like that. She hadn't even given it much thought. Everything had been so fast-paced since the very beginning that they hadn't ever talked about the most important aspect of their cover stories.

"Absolutely not!" His eyes flashed and she flinched. He was truly angry. "Is that what you thought we would be doing? You thought I would force myself on you to gain credibility with those animals?"

"I don't know. I hadn't really thought that far ahead. I mean, we've been practicing with guns and fighting, drilling and quizzing each other with all this information. I was starting to wonder. What if we have to do more than act to keep our cover?" She was trying to be practical, but she wondered how well she could pull off pretending to have sex under duress.

Her relationships with her past boyfriends had been pretty typical. Getting-to-know-you dates had gradually become more intimate until they naturally evolved to kissing, touching and sleeping together. She had never experienced sexual violence, although one of her classmates had dropped out of school during her sophomore year of college following rape allegations by his roommate's sister. Her actual experience with sexual violence was nonexistent.

"It would never come to that." He was facing her, but he was looking past her. She watched with concern as the muscles in his face and shoulders trembled.

"I don't get it. So you plan to electrocute me and hit me, but not kiss me."

"Kissing? You think that's all they use those kids for?" His eyes snapped down to hers and she swallowed hard. His expression was dark and furious.

"You know what I mean. Kissing, touching, whatever," she tried to explain.

"Do you think I should?" he challenged her, leaning toward her with his hand planted in the mattress between them.

"If that's what the situation calls for we have to put up a convincing display. Otherwise this is all for nothing, and we might as well sentence Mary Alice and any other girls they have to death," she argued. It sounded logical when she said the words, but something deep within her was screaming, "No. This is so, so wrong!"

Masen slammed his fist into the bed. "Enough. It's out of the question. This conversation is over." He turned the lights back out and lay down.

Bella's heart was racing. She ran through the conversation in her head. The stupidity and danger of what she was suggesting finally caught up with her. She was already having trouble distinguishing between Marie's thoughts and her own when she slipped into character. Experiencing a rape first-hand, even a staged one, would destroy any trust and confidence that she shared with her partner.

When he hit her, it was just her body. She knew it would heal soon enough. Besides, it didn't hurt any more than many of the blows she had received as they sparred. But she had never had sex without love. Immature, young love, true, but she had genuinely liked each of her boyfriends for who they were, and she had shared that affection by kissing, touching and making love with them. If she crossed that line with Masen, there would be no going back. Her innocence and her ability to love a man that way would be damaged forever.

Bella felt the tears trickling down the sides of her face into her hair. She shivered. She hadn't intended to make him angry. She should have brought up her questions and concerns the next day when they were on the road with nothing else to do but discuss their plans and strategies. She should have asked him how he planned to work around that dilemma, instead of throwing her assumptions around blindly.

Agent Masen anticipated everything. Of course he had a plan. Didn't he?

When she finally drifted off to sleep, her dreams were haunted by evil leers, bruised bodies, and the blank, hopeless eyes of the girls she was failing.

* * *

_A/N: I hope that answers some of your questions that I've ignored in the reviews up until this point. Thanks for reading!_

**One other thing. . . On The Line passed 1,000 reviews last chapter. Wow. Thank you so much! It is really quite fitting that my 1,000th review was written by Margaret TTS. Margaret was active on The Twilight Saga NING website back when I originally started writing fanfiction many moons ago. Her constant support, encouragement and playful, positive reviews have always been a valuable and treasured part of this experience for me. Thanks so much, Margaret!**


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: Thanks to the lovely Ninkita for editing this chapter. I think we can all tell when I skip that step compared to when she sweeps up my typos. Thanks, Hun!_

* * *

Agent Masen shook Bella gently by the shoulder to wake her up. She stared blurrily at the clock to verify that it really was time to get up. She felt like she had barely slept. She stumbled to the shower and turned the water as hot as she could stand, then hunched under the spray, willing the water to burn away the stiffness. Every inch of her body ached.

Remembering their timeline, Bella hurried through her shower, squeezed the water from her hair and toweled off. She used a wad of tissues to wipe a section of the mirror free of condensation to apply her makeup. Her mood was stark and brittle. With careful but heavy strokes, she used one of Jacob's techniques to paint her eyes and mouth. He claimed it masked expressions more effectively than any other combination. She wondered if he had guessed that she would end up using it against her own partner while he was teaching her. The thick black eyeliner above and below, combined with black mascara and dark-lined lips, made her look like certain young people she remembered seeing around her high school and college campuses. A hard, emotionless shell on the outside to protect the insecurity within.

Masen edged past her to get to the toilet, peed and stepped into the shower. He could have been alone in the room for all the concern or self-consciousness he displayed. She was pretty certain that she would have to be full to bursting in order to pee with somebody else in the room. Even the stalls in public restrooms felt too flimsy for her. She knew she was going to have to get over that. Urination was not that big a deal. Not compared to everything else she was considering.

Bella brushed her hair forcefully and pulled it into a tight ponytail high on her head. She wrapped a bright blue ribbon several times around the hair tie, tucking the ends in, then dressed in another of Marie's skirt and blouse combos. She looked at the time. They were supposed to leave in 10 minutes.

Masen came out of the bathroom as she was packing her bags. He threw clothes on as quickly as a cop or firefighter dressing for action, except that he was fastening buttons and smoothing wrinkles, not arming himself with protective gear and utility belts. They got ready to leave like soldiers breaking camp; near silent, focused, intent on just one task, one detail at a time. At two minutes after the hour, there was a knock at the door. Masen propped the door open, directed the bellboy to their pile of luggage with a nod of his head, grabbed his briefcase with one hand and Bella's hand with the other.

Their exit was swift and wordless. The precision and coolness of Agent Masen's adopted persona seemed to drop the temperature of every space they passed through. Conversations dimmed, eyes flicked their way, guests and employees were cautiously concerned. . . and then they were gone. Back on the road and barreling down the interstate.

They planned to travel more than 1,100 miles in a single day. Bella looked out the window as another city faded away. She hoped he would break the silence first. She felt humiliated and confused over their argument from the night before. She didn't know what he was thinking or if he was angry or offended by her misstep. Eventually, the hum of the engine and the gentle sway of Masen changing lanes as he wove between slower vehicles lulled her into a restless sleep.

She woke up again when the car slowed, and surreptitiously wiped a drop of drool from her lower lip. Disoriented, she looked around. Rapid City already? Masen had covered 200 miles in less than two hours.

"How fast were we going? Aren't you afraid of getting pulled over?"

"We're in the clear today. Mahardy has these plates down as a top secret government courier. We need to be in Chicago tonight and this is the only way. It's a risk, but it's necessary."

"Okay. Got it," Bella replied, still fighting off the sluggishness of her unplanned nap. She looked at Masen and noted the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the tension in his jaw. His mind was working on something.

Bella remained in the car as Masen filled the gas tank, then ran into a store to buy drinks, snacks and sandwiches. From the looks of it, he wasn't planning another stop for a long time. She made sure to sip her juice between bites even though she was thirsty. She didn't want to get stuck holding it for hours until their next stop. Masen scarfed down some food then placed a call, leaving the phone in the console as it dialed.

"Agent Masen?" Mahardy's voice came through, sounding relieved.

"Just checking in."

"Where are you?"

"Passing through South Dakota. Thanks for the free pass. We're cutting it close and I'd rather not have to deal with the locals."

"By locals I assume you mean the State Patrol," Mahardy drawled.

"Yeah, them," Masen agreed, before slurping his hot coffee loudly.

Bella's lips twitched. She knew him well enough now to see when he was intentionally doing things to annoy Special Agent Mahardy. She wondered if there was a history there, or if Mahardy was just unfortunate enough to be lumped in with other 'bureaucrats' and 'desk jockeys' in Masen's head.

"Well don't wrap that shiny Bimmer around a telephone pole. What's your ETA?"

"1930. We'll see how traffic looks when we get close. We should be drifting into town after rush hour."

"Great. We'll have a team in place one floor down. Stomp twice if you need them. Three times to come in hot."

"That won't be necessary, Rick."

"Humor me. Run the Cranston switch if you get even a whiff of something being off. If you don't need them, they'll pack up shop in the morning and a couple of your peers got a 5-star overnight. No big deal. It's barely a drop in the bucket compared to how much we're spending on everything else."

"Don't start griping about my budget. You already have me running on a shoestring," Masen laughed.

"Check in tomorrow morning. The Friday morning conference call always makes me want to punch somebody. I would really appreciate the excuse to skip it."

"Aw, come on, Rick. It can't be that bad."

"It will be when they see my operations budget projections."

"And the hits just keep on coming. Okay, man. I'm gonna hang up now before you start downgrading my boxers from silk to lycra." He hung up before Special Agent Mahardy could respond, but he was grinning and looked more awake.

Bella bit her lip before speaking, but her curiosity was stronger than her self-consciousness. "What is a Cranston switch?"

"Mahardy was referring to a safeguard I came up with a few years back. We used it in an operation when we were concerned that we were going to step on a hornet's nest. A pair of agents will be in the room right below us. If I suspect that I've been followed tonight, we'll switch rooms. If somebody does follow me and they try to confront me, they'll end up at the wrong room. Initiating the switch will cue Mahardy to have somebody hack into the hotel database and video surveillance systems. If they approach our original room, we'll flip flop our room numbers in the scheduling database. The other agents will do their best to stall, slowing the enemy down and creating confusion. When they call back to the desk and are told the other room number, they'll assume the clerk misread the number or misspoke the first time. If it works, by the time they get downstairs, all they'll find is an empty room."

"That sounds like a smart precaution. But you think Mahardy is being too cautious. Why? What are you doing tonight?"

"I'm trying to reconnect with an old contact. It's always a risky proposition. This crowd is very. . . suspicious. And I've been out of touch for a long time."

"What do you need him for?"

"Her."

"Oh. Well, what do you need her for?"

"I'm doing the same thing I was doing in DC and Seattle. I'm looking for a buyer or a trade. So far, all signs point to the Volturi controlling the supply lines in every metropolitan hub."

"And she's a trafficker?"

"Let's just say, when she was starting her first business, she didn't question where her girls were coming from too closely. I don't know what she's up to now. Like I said, I've been out of touch for a while. Not only that, but last time I was in contact with her she knew the Feds were onto her and she was cleaning up her act. She was running an escort service. A high class gig: College-educated girls, all natural, no plastic."

"She's a madam?" The concept was only slightly less distasteful than an outright trafficker by Bella's reckoning.

"From what I could tell, most of the employees really were escorts, not hookers. She had the stereotypical group of aspiring actresses and models, but she also had young women with professional degrees who were networking to launch their careers and getting paid well to do it. Not all men are in it just for the sex. Some businessmen appreciate intelligent conversation and the prestige that comes with having a brilliant and beautiful young woman on their arm."

"Some, but not most."

"True."

"So she's gone legit?"

"Possibly. But people hear things, even when they're working on the fringe. They keep tabs on the key players. It's a dicey world, and you gotta be smart to stay alive."

Bella considered his explanation from all angles. If he believed his contact was not a threat, then Mahardy was probably worried about danger coming from another quarter. Masen's contact might be keeping tabs on her competition and other key players, but that almost certainly meant that somebody was keeping tabs on her. How deeply she was involved in selling sex today would determine how closely she was being watched.

Were the Volturi active in Chicago? From what she had read in Tanya's files, they were busy in almost every major city in the country, with tentacles that reached across oceans and continents to major cities around the globe.

"Why do we call them the Volturi family? It's an Italian name, but they aren't connected with the mafia, and nobody in any of Tanya's files had Volturi as their last name."

"That's a really good question. I'm not the best resource to answer it, though. Call Tanya." He dialed with his thumb without taking his eyes off the road and handed the phone to Bella. She only hesitated for a second before swiping the screen and holding it up to her ear.

"Filipovna," Tanya answered brusquely.

"Agent Filipovna, it's Isabella Swan. Agent Masen's partner."

"I remember you. How can I help you?" Her voice softened, becoming friendlier and more encouraging.

"Masen suggested that I call you. I have some questions about the Volturi that weren't really covered in the data we reviewed."

"What kind of questions?" The older woman's curiosity was evident in her tone.

"I'm confused about their history. I noticed that everyone refers to them as the Volturi family, but from what I read, there is no actual Volturi family."

"Not any more. At least, not that we know of. But there used to be." Tanya paused, then cleared her throat and continued. "How much time do you have?"

"As much as you need, I guess. We're on the road. If I put you on speaker, Masen can hear, too."

"So, the long version. Tell me if I'm putting you to sleep and I'll stop. I have a tendency to get carried away with details. That's why they shut me up in a crypt and only send people to talk to me when they're desperate." Bella had activated the speakerphone, so Masen heard Tanya's disclaimer and burst out laughing.

"I can't sleep, I'm driving. But if you hear Ms. Swan snoring, you'll know you've failed."

"I don't snore," Bella objected.

"I'll record it for you sometime since you don't want to take my word for it."

Bella clamped her mouth shut on her retort when she heard Tanya laugh over the phone line. It felt odd to have so much openness with anyone other than Masen.

"Well, then. Let's see. The Volturi were an aristocratic family that held a lot of political and religious influence across the Italian peninsula during the 16th and 17th centuries. The firstborn son always inherited the family lands surrounding the town of Volterra, the second son joined the church, and any further children were pushed into military or political service. That was a common strategy, but their family employed it more effectively than most. Their influence was not always significant enough to make it into the history books, but they were one of the most affluent and consistently relevant bloodlines in the region for centuries.

"In the early 1800s there was a change in the social and political landscape. Italy was taking shape as a sovereign nation, and the Volturi family was too entrenched in their own machinations to realize that the international community was about to make their financial, social and religious status obsolete. The First Italian War of Independence effectively put an end to their power plays. As land and titles were reshuffled, the Volturi saw immediate declines in their income and influence.

"The patriarch at the time was a wise business man and took a gamble, investing more than half of his fortune in commerce. On the surface he was trading wine, building materials and technology. Beneath it all, his expanding logistical network was a conduit for secrets, weaponry and anything else of value. Everything was a commodity in his eyes. Fragments of correspondence from that period indicate that their network was responsible for assisting several high-ranking political refugees escape the region.

"His sons expanded the network beyond the Italian peninsula, playing whatever role was most profitable as the region was fought over by the Savoy dynasty, the Austrians and the French. Volterra itself became little more than a figurehead for the family. The actual family operated out of Messina, where they were better able to oversee their shipping supply lines and maintain communication with their international couriers and informants.

"They were well on their way to become the most powerful family in the country again when the massive 1908 earthquake destroyed many of the towns and cities in southern Italy and Sicily. The four brothers and their families are all believed to have died in the quake. A cousin inherited the family property and business interests. He was not the same caliber as his deceased cousins. The assets were poorly managed and declined rapidly. By the Second World War, the Volturi name was barely more than a footnote in history books, although their legacy was remembered within the intelligence community.

"Fast forward to our situation. About 15 years ago, a New York-based child prostitution ring was broken and the operators were arrested and tried. By the end of the investigation, it was evident that each of them had been recruited by the same individual. None of them had ever met their employer, but they were supplied with victims, prospective client lists and equipped with properties to operate from. All roads lead back to Italy and a shell company called Volturi Arts and Entertainment. Even with the cooperation of the Italian government, we were unable to identify any living descendent of the Volturi family that could have been involved in the establishment or development of the company or its US operations.

"The investigation ended there and would have disappeared completely, but a few years later, another human trafficking operation was busted smuggling Chinese girls through another shell company, this time based in Australia. Again, the company featured Volturi in its name. The name began popping up with increasing frequency. Two years ago, a California drug ring was ambushed and every member was executed. Local authorities and the DEA concluded it was a rival cartel. However, rumors on the street were that the drug runners were smuggling Latino girls into the country using their drop boats and selling them as domestic servants with additional benefits to Silicon Valley millionaires- and this had angered somebody. People were whispering that the Volturi didn't appreciate them stepping out of their wheelhouse. The consensus was that the Volturi eliminated their main competition to scare any smaller groups and secure the monopoly."

"Wait. I'm sorry to interrupt, but does that mean somebody just picked a name at random and adopted it for their international crime network?" Bella was puzzling through the details Tanya had related and trying to absorb it all. The idea that a group could identify every member of a rival organization and eliminate them so efficiently and ruthlessly was terrifying.

"That's the conclusion the other analysts came to. However, I've studied criminal psychology for years, and the consistency of naming the companies feels like an act of pride. A challenge. It's like waving your standard or emblazoning your coat of arms on your breastplate. The Volturi family lost its power and influence decades ago, but somebody is working very hard to make the name relevant again. The client lists we've dug up read like the who's who of politics, technology and banking. Somebody is actively soliciting people with both money and influence."

"You believe a member of the Volturi family is alive and behind it all," Bella concluded.

"That's what I think. But I don't have any solid evidence to support it. All I have is a gut feeling."

"I see," Bella mused.

"There's one other detail about the San Francisco massacre that is not a matter of record. Every corpse had a 'V' branded on its chest. And it wasn't your normal two lines connecting at a point. It was fancy script. Somebody has a flare for the dramatic."

"That's disturbing. And nauseating."

"I know. Did I answer your question?"

"Yeah, and then some," she chuckled with a bemused sigh.

"I did warn you," Tanya laughed.

"You can't scare Agent Swan off that easily," Masen said with a wry grin.

"I see that. Well, I have to run. I have an appointment in five. Good luck, you two. I'll let you know if anything else comes to my attention."

"Thanks," they both said as she hung up.

"Wow," Bella said, rubbing her temples. "I've never been good with history."

"Me neither, that's why I had you call her."

"And I'm not good with being executed and branded," she added with a shudder.

"That's not going to happen."

"No. I'll just get periodically clobbered by my psychotic partner."

"Much better," he replied with a lopsided smile.

"If you say so," she sighed theatrically, glad that whatever had happened the night before was already water under the bridge.

* * *

A/N: I am criminally behind on my reading. I have about 15 or 16 stories that I have to catch up on, so if I'm slow to update in the coming weeks, it's because I'm doing something else that I love just as much as writing.

**What am I reading? Here are a few that I HIGHLY recommend:**

_The Boy in the Womb Room (11121938) by twentyfourth and vine - Snark is her middle name._

_Something Beautiful Remains (11092949) by Bethesda Grey - Box of tissues is required for chapters 1, 2 and possible others_

_The Man Next Door (11041506) by RobzBeanie - An unlikely pairing, but so compelling. This Bella shows incredible bravery, trust and compassion._


	26. Chapter 26

_Don't ask me how much reading I did in the last few weeks. The answer is too depressing. I think I'm further behind than ever. Oh well. One day I'll have time for everything. Bwahahahahaha. Not._

* * *

They were on their third tank of gas when they finally cruised into the sprawling Chicago metropolis. Bella looked out of her window and saw two airliners on parallel final approaches sinking toward the skyline, their windshields reflecting the orange glow of the evening sun.

"Flying would have been so much faster," she grumbled.

"I know. The people on that plane could very well have left Seattle after lunch time today," Agent Masen added helpfully.

She gave him a black look and rolled her shoulders to work the kinks out of her neck. "Is there anything I should be doing while you're out on your errand tonight?"

"Sleep. Watch Jeopardy. Whatever you want, really."

"Now I wish I had brought a book. I feel like reading."

"I don't have any books, but you can borrow my computer. I'm sure you can find something interesting to read."

"Seriously? You'd let me use your laptop? Aren't you afraid I'll read something I'm not supposed to see?"

"If you can find and open the file, you can read it."

"That sounds a little bit like a challenge," Bella teased.

Masen shrugged. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't.

They crept down a freeway off ramp and into the city, their tiny black car completely dwarfed by the towering buildings. Bella could feel the tension rolling off her partner. She couldn't tell if he was preoccupied with thoughts about his appointment, or if there was something about being in the city that was bothering him. She felt the stifling, suffocating weight of claustrophobia sinking into her chest.

They were counting down the minutes to their next performance. Bella checked the mirror. Her eye makeup was a bit smudged, giving her a slightly tragic look. She reapplied her lipstick and mussed her hair. With her heavy eyeliner, pale skin and the dark circles under her eyes, she looked a bit wild. She slipped her feet back into her shoes and closed her eyes as they pulled up to the hotel. Masen's darkening mood had already set the tone, so finding Marie only took her a moment. When she opened her eyes a few heartbeats later, the transformation was complete.

Just like their arrival in Sheridan the night before, Mr. Cullen owned the space from the moment he crossed the threshold, demanding immediate service with a single look. The hotel was a true five-star establishment. Compared to their last stop, the clientele was better dressed, the employees were more deferential, even the air smelled more expensive. But the looks people cast their way were more guarded.

After he checked them in, Edward Cullen tucked Marie's hand into the crook of his elbow and they passed through the lobby like any other couple. Well. . . almost. His pace was a bit too fast for her shorter stride, and an observant bystander would notice that she wasn't leaning into him for closeness or support; her head and shoulders were angled away.

When the hotel room door closed behind them several minutes later, Bella allowed her cover to melt away. She grinned up at her partner. Her smile didn't stick. She could see he was still in character.

Bella took a couple of steps back and watched as he rifled through his luggage. It only took him a few minutes to shave, change his clothes and fix his hair. She watched him strap a piece to his left ankle and tuck a folding blade into his right pocket. They hadn't been on the list Mahardy approved, so she assumed they were personal items. Edward Cullen took his laptop out of its case, set it up on the desk and turned to go. He barely spared her a glance as he left the room dressed in beige slacks and a black button-down shirt with the collar casually open and sleeves rolled up to expose his designer watch and powerful forearms.

At first, she was at a loss for what do. She decided to take advantage of the rare moment of privacy to have a long bath. She had hoped that it would help her relax, but her brain wouldn't stop whirring. Masen had given her free license to use his laptop, and now her curiosity was burning to explore it. Bella drained the tub while the water was still hot, wrapped herself in an ultra-plush bathrobe and sat down at the executive-style desk before Masen's computer. She opened it and waited for it to power up. A minute later, a password screen appeared.

"You have got to be kidding me," she muttered, feeling cheated. She couldn't begin to fathom what her secretive partner could have used as a password.

Bella drummed her fingertips on the desk as she thought. What kind of password would Agent Masen choose? Would he choose a random assortment of keys or an everyday word? Would it be something connected to work or completely atypical? She started typing a couple of times but quickly deleted the letters.

Moments before she gave it up as a bad job, she noticed a note scribbled on the hotel stationery in the corner of the desk. The writing was angular but uniform. Disciplined. Just like everything else about him.

"Stumped? What's your favorite phrase?"

Did he mean a quote? A catch phrase that she used in his presence? Or was he referring to some long ago trivia he had read in her file? No. It had to be something from their short time together. She didn't have a long list of 'favorites' from the past week. More annoyances than anything else.

The answer hit her with a jolt. Sarcasm. Of course. It was the only consistent trait her partner possessed.

Bella carefully typed in "Don't Worry," then clicked Enter. Bingo.

She recognized the desktop layout from working alongside Masen. She clicked on the Recycle Bin. It was empty. The internet browser history was wiped clean. She opened several applications but there were no recent files. The Documents and Photo folders were populated by files of gibberish. Bella leaned back in the chair and folded her arms across her chest. Was there a secondary password? Was everything encrypted and for his eyes only? If that were the case, surely he wouldn't have offered to let her mess around on his computer only to be frustrated and annoyed.

Bella continued digging for the key. She opened the Start Menu to see what programs were actively running. Using the web browser, she was able to identify the purpose behind all of the programs except one. She hesitated before disabling the operation. Even if she broke something, she was sure he could fix it. She ended the program and closed the window. The screen blinked three times and returned to normal. However, when she opened the Documents folder, the files had been renamed. Now they made sense.

She opened file after file, looking first out of curiosity, then to learn. Masen had taken Tanya's research one step further. His analysis of each player's history, relationships and motivation added depth to the Volturi criminal network. In her mind, she was no longer picturing a two-dimensional orb weaver's web. That was far too simple. The reason they had been unable to identify the spider in the center of the web was because there was no center. Only a gaping hole with strings of outrages and inhuman crimes swirling like a vortex around it.

Bella thought about the spiders that lived around her house growing up. The hobo spider was reclusive, lurking in the damp and the dark. If it ventured inside, it scurried beneath furniture or along the baseboards as soon as a person entered the room. It built its funnel-shaped webs between rocks and cracks or under the wood pile. Hidden away from sight, it lurked, waiting for its prey to trip into the funnel-web. . . then it would dart out to attack its victim, drag it back into the hole and devour it.

These people were everywhere, wandering around in plain sight. Happy, healthy, wealthy figures of American prosperity. It was an effective camouflage. Their evil side hid in darkness and only showed itself to their victims. If only a can of Raid was as lethal to them as their eight-legged counterparts!

As the hours ticked by, Bella lost interest in reading about their targets. It was all important and useful information, but her brain couldn't process any more. She wondered what else Masen could have tucked away in his computer. When she finished clicking in and out of the files in the Documents folder, she started exploring the program files. She had never been better than adequate in her coding classes. Information technology was as hard to grasp as quantum physics. At first it was interesting to see how complex the computer's backstage functions were. The sheer quantity of instructions that kept the computer programs functioning was staggering. Unfortunately, the amazement didn't last long. Click. . . click. . . click. She was getting bored. Killing time. Waiting for Masen to return.

At the back of her mind she wondered what other layers of security Masen had installed. Surely his computer wasn't this easy to hack. Everything she had read so far was mission-related. Meant for her eyes as much as his. Connected to the password she entered, perhaps. What else was hiding in the labyrinthine circuitry?

Somewhere in the maze of the Microsoft Office files she came across the fonts folder. Near the top of the list, her named jumped out at her. What did a 'Bella' font look like anyway? She opened the file and gasped. Tucked away where nobody else would think to look was her entire life story.

It was not light reading. The FBI had dug into more than her life and history. They had profiled her parents, her previous boyfriends, her neighbors and her closest friends. Everyone and everything that had played a significant role in her upbringing was spread out before her. It was invasive, true, but it was also eye-opening, just as she had predicted. She barely remembered the on-campus Greenpeace rally she had attended with a friend during freshman year of college, but there were photos of her there. She didn't know that her third boyfriend had dealt pot and ecstasy while they were dating. That shocked her. How had she not known? She was certain he hadn't used them himself. At least not in her presence.

The more recent information included performance reports and instructor notes from her time in training. Those made her proud. She had worked her hardest and it had paid off. People who mattered had taken note. Then she reached more privileged information. Her lie detector transcripts and analysis. Her aptitude tests and corresponding placement recommendations. Her psych eval. . .

Her psychological profile was troubling. The shrinks didn't conclude that there was anything wrong with her, but seeing her mind and motivations methodically picked apart and categorized made her squeamish. INFJ. Introverted Intuitive Feeling Judging.

Apparently that was a rare combination. She was mildly defensive about being categorized as an intuitive feeler. She was in law enforcement and those words, especially in combination with one another, sounded weak. However, she couldn't disagree with their assessment of her strengths and weaknesses. She was most comfortable with her parents or being left alone. She had never wanted or needed anyone else to be that close to her. She listened first and foremost to the voice inside her head that told her the answers before she even thought to ask the question. She followed her heart. But she had strong, almost immovable convictions about right and wrong and justice for the victims of abuse. If God had decided to custom-build a human being for their current mission, he would have built one just like her.

Was this the source of Masen's confidence and support? If so, why had he flippantly referred to her as Mahardy's last choice?

Bella stood up from the desk and stared off into space. Masen had wanted her to read this. She was almost certain of that. So why set her up on this wild goose chase? Couldn't he have just sat her down, opened the file and said, "Here. You should read this." Did she have to work for everything he gave her?

The door burst open without warning, cutting off all further speculation. Masen strode into the room. His face was rigid and his eyes flashed through the room, taking everything in with a glance. The mess he had left behind, the open computer, her standing awake, but not yet dressed.

"We need to move. Now." His heel struck the floor sharply twice, then he went to work, throwing items back into his bags.

Bella's body unfroze and she scrambled to get dressed. Two stomps. Not three. They were switching rooms, but the other team wasn't coming in with guns drawn. They had time. Maybe only minutes, but they could do it.

Bella swept the area with her eyes. Masen had already packed away his computer and was stacking their luggage by the door. There were two sharp knocks at the door. He waited. Two more knocks followed within five seconds, and he let them in. The couple was middle aged and dressed well, but comfortably. An upper-middle class couple taking a luxury weekend away.

The man's hair was cut in a military fashion, and he was tanned and muscular. A man of action. His 'wife' was completely nondescript. Bella saw women like her everywhere. In salons, at the grocery store, driving SUV's with teenagers in the back. However, the pair moved like trained operatives. Not an ounce of energy was wasted.

They dumped their own matched luggage in the living room, and the female partner went to work making the space look lived in with clothes hung in the closet, the contents of the mini-bar half-consumed in the living room, the bed clothes rumpled then remade haphazardly and toiletries scattered about the bathroom.

The 'husband' helped them carry their own luggage down one flight of stairs. Masen and the other man traded key cards and the switch was done. Bella expected them to leave immediately. Instead, Masen directed her to sit quietly while he unloaded his laptop. Working swiftly with his jaw clenched in concentration, he disassembled the computer, removed the hard drive and replaced it with a secondary piece of hardware from his luggage. He took the original hard drive to the bathroom. Through the open door, Bella watched him slip on rubber gloves before submerging the drive in a glass container filled with a viscous fluid. He covered it, placed it under the sink, then concealed it with the extra linens.

They waited. Bella listened for sounds from the floor above. The rooms were so well insulated that she could barely discern any sounds beyond the hum of the HVAC and the distant rush of water through pipes. When Masen's phone rang she startled.

"You were right. . . Yes. . . Okay. . . I'll call when we're clear. Got it. Thanks." He kept the phone to his ear, motioned her to the door with a tilt of his head, and they gathered their baggage.

For the next several minutes, she hustled as quietly as she could through the sleeping hotel, tottering on heels and loaded down with her bags. Masen used hand signals to tell her when to stop or go, taking his instructions from the person on the other line. Somebody was watching over them through the hotel's video surveillance system.

They took the elevator down to the second floor, then took the stairs to the parking garage, avoiding the lobby altogether. She didn't breathe easily again until they were back in the car, fleeing the city in total darkness. It was almost 3 AM. She knew the adrenaline would only carry them so far. At some point they would need sleep. For now, they were running. He didn't tell her what they were running from.


	27. Chapter 27

_Happy Tuesday!_

* * *

Driving into the sunrise was an awe-inspiring experience for Bella. When the fiery globe first crested the horizon, she could feel the solar radiation shoot straight through her. Bella watched the orange bulge expand until her eyes watered and she had to look away. She blinked away the tears and glanced over at Masen. He had been driving for almost three hours, staying barely above the speed limit, never deviating from the center of their lane. His skin was pale and his eyes were bloodshot. She had never seen him looking so drained.

"We need to stop soon. We should eat something. You need sleep. And you need to take those contacts out and give your eyes a break."

"Huh. You're right. Let me check in first." Moving slowly, he dialed Mahardy's cell phone and they both listened to it ring.

"G'morning," their supervisor greeted them groggily.

"Sure looks like it. No sign of a tail. How's the other team doing?"

"Enjoying a day off. Less than five minutes after you cleared out they had a visitor. Not really what we expected. A call girl came to their room and Miller turned her away. A few minutes later a couple of heavies in masks busted down the door and searched the place. They roughed Miller up a bit. Nicholson put on a good show of hysterics and they left empty handed. It only took them a few minutes to find their way down stairs. Nicholson says they did a quick search but didn't stick around for long."

"Is the drive safe?"

"Yep. It's been destroyed," said Mahardy.

"Good," Masen breathed, sounding relieved. "Tell them thanks for us."

"Yeah, well, you owe 'em both a case of beer."

"Take care of that for me, will you? You know I'm good for it."

"You are such an asshole," Mahardy grumbled.

"Yeah. I know," Masen shrugged.

"When did you realize you got made?" Mahardy asked the same question that had been eating at Bella. They had the advantage of several minutes on his pursuers. He must have known he was being followed and given them the slip at some point to have established such a long lead.

"That's the thing, I don't think I was. I'm pretty sure they were more interested in what I had than who I was."

"Huh. What makes you think that?"

"A dozen different clues. For one thing, I'm still alive. But from the start, Maria was far too happy to see me. Reporting on me probably earned her some brownie points. Trying to prove her loyalty, no doubt. She talked too much. Wanted to keep me around to meet some of her girls. Asked a lot of questions. Tried to plant a bug on me. Probably would have drugged my drink if I wasn't watching her like a hawk the whole damn time. She even ordered the car to take me back to the hotel. Naturally I sent them to the wrong one, then had the driver drop me off at a club on the other side of town. I thought I lost my tail by the third cab. They may be in with the taxi companies, or possibly just individual drivers."

"Shit," breathed Mahardy in a tired voice.

"Yeah. Lot's of it."

"Well, then. We know a little more about what we're up against."

"Yes we do. And, Rick. . ."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. You were right."

"You're welcome," Mahardy said, sounding pleased. When Masen cleared his throat, Mahardy's tone changed. "Don't say it. Don't even think it."

"Say what? That there's a first for everything?"

"Fuck off, Masen. And get some sleep. You sound like shit."

Masen hung up, chuckling under his breath.

"That answers some of my questions," Bella spoke up for the first time.

"You have more?"

"What did they have to gain by following you? What were they looking for?"

"You haven't figured it out yet?"

"Obviously not," she retorted, wishing he could give her a straight answer for once.

"They were looking for you. It's only a monopoly if you own all the pieces." The humor was gone, leaving Masen's voice as hard and black as asphalt.

Shivers dripped down from her scalp to her spine, and she crossed her arms defensively. "They won't buy what they can take by force?"

"Pretty much."

"Hmmm." Bella mulled over what Mahardy had told them. "So who was the girl?"

"I have no clue. None at all. Could have been an honest mistake on her part, could have been a scout."

"And the hard drive you destroyed?"

"Best not to be found in my possession. We'd lose a lot more than our cover identities. Until I knew we weren't being followed, I couldn't risk keeping it, no matter what it cost to destroy it."

So there had been more valuable information on his computer. What else would she have learned in the coming days? What vital information were they being forced to do without?

"What next?" she asked.

"Like you said, we need to find something to eat, find a place to crash for a few hours, and I need to get these contacts out before they become permanently fused to my eyeballs."

"Glad to know you listen to me sometimes."

"I always listen to you, Swan," he grinned at her as they exited the interstate.

They headed south on a two-lane highway until they hit a small Ohio town that offered over-priced fuel, convenient calories and cheap lodgings. Masen checked them into a tiny motel, paid cash and parked their car beneath an oak tree in the far corner of the lot. Carrying only their toiletries and electronics, they hurried across the cracked and broken pavement to room number 8.

Masen seemed as comfortable with the stained and threadbare furnishings as he did surrounded by luxury. He removed his contacts, drowned his eyes with saline, inhaled three greasy breakfast sandwiches and collapsed onto the queen-sized bed with a muffled grunt. Bella's appetite hadn't handled her near-abduction as well as she thought. Her stomach felt like it was twisting in on itself. She forced herself to eat one sandwich before she got undressed down to her underwear, brushed her teeth and slipped beneath the covers. The too-tight bra was bruising her ribs so she self-consciously unhooked it and tossed it on top of her other clothes. She didn't think she could relax, but sheer, bone-deep exhaustion won, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

The promised rest turned out to be far too short. Masen woke her up three hours later with a painful pinch on her upper arm.

"Come on, rookie. We both need some exercise before we lock ourselves back in our four-wheeled prison."

"I am not running in stilettos. I thought we already discussed this," she groaned, hiding her eyes from the light.

"Not running. Yoga."

"You want me to lie down on that carpet?"

"Unless you've discovered the secrets of levitation, yes."

His expression challenged her to argue one more time. With a murderous glare at her partner, Bella levered herself out of bed, used the bathroom, splashed ice-cold water on her face, then put on her shirt before joining him on the floor. It didn't matter that he never seemed to notice her body, she was not doing yoga topless. He led her through simple breathing exercises before beginning a sequence of poses. The tension seeped out of her body with every calming breath. When he helped her back to her feet half an hour later, she was moving more easily than she had since they first started driving. They took turns showering, redressed and were back on the road by late morning.

"How far today?" Bella asked as she fastened her seatbelt.

"Cincinnati. Then we'll take I-75 clear through to Florida. We'll stop in Macon tomorrow night and be in Palm Beach on Sunday evening. Right on schedule."

"I'm gonna need more than half an hour of yoga when we get there," Bella sighed, flexing her bare feet.

"We'll work the kinks out. Don't worry."

"Don't worry. Ha. That was cute."

"You think so?"

"Better than 1-2-3-4-5," she laughed.

"Believe it or not, I've actually seen that movie."

"Congratulations. You may be human after all."

"If you say so." His easy smile grew serious and he continued, "Ms Swan, there's something we need to discuss."

"Okay. What is it?" Bella turned in her seat to watch him. His eyes stayed fixed on a point a hundred yards in front of the car.

"You were right to question our plan for approaching the sexual violence we will see and experience while we are there. This isn't my first mission, but it is yours. You have no idea what to expect, and I can't expect you to know how to respond to or cope with the challenges in front of us."

Bella waited in silence as he gathered his thoughts before continuing.

"From what I've seen in the past, public displays of deviance are the norm with groups like this. The act of exposing your crimes establishes a solid baseline of morality among criminals. And trust, of a sort. I don't plan to subject either of us to that. Edward Cullen is aloof and insular, much more so than our targets. Standing above such public displays of licentiousness is completely in character for him. They'll accept it."

"So we won't need to perform in public."

"Not sexually, no. I will be rough with you, though. Nothing you can't handle. But others will flaunt their depravity. There is no way for you to prepare for that. It's not something that you can ever become immune to. Not unless there is something wrong with you."

"And we can't do anything to stop it," Bella acknowledged, feeling ill.

"We are doing something to stop it. But that requires allowing what is already happening to continue until we are in the position to bring the perpetrators to ultimate justice. If we jump the gun, a lot of guilty people will go free. This may be the hardest part of our job. Harder even than the physical challenges."

Bella was unable to speak so she nodded to show she understood.

"If everything goes to plan, Mr. Cullen will be invited to present Marie to the Volturi and see some of the other girls. We will both be watched at every turn. If they believe he is who he claims to be, they may extend an invitation to enter their compound. Wherever it is, we can expect both audio and video surveillance. I'll do what I can to eliminate that nuisance, but in the event that I cannot, I'll give you these signals." He rubbed his temple as if he had a headache. "We're being listened to." He pinched the bridge of his nose and scowled, the picture of a man stressed to his breaking point. "We're being watched. Easy enough?"

"Yeah. I can remember that."

"I see no value in practicing an assault. From the position of a man who is enraged or overcome by violence, the actions he takes must be spontaneous and fluid, reacting to the catalyst and the environment. Unpredictable. The same goes for a victim. Marie's reactions must be truly authentic."

"I do better when I follow your cues anyway."

"I know. From the very beginning, your instincts have been your greatest asset."

"Thanks," she said, softly.

"Just being honest," he smiled. "Now, Edward Cullen is the picture of rigid self-control. That is his strength. However, he may need to show weakness before the Volturi are willing to truly trust him. He'll only give that up in private. It shouldn't come to that, but if it does, do exactly as I say and we'll be okay."

"Of course," she agreed without hesitation. Her imagination was filling in the blanks. With a man as base and immoral as Edward Cullen, losing control could only take one track. The thought terrified her. But she trusted Masen.

Didn't she?

Yes, she decided. She trusted him with her life. And more.


	28. Chapter 28

_A/N: Raise your hand if you live in Florida. . . . _

_Okay, you Floridians. Don't be too critical of me here. I haven't been to Florida in almost 15 years, so I'm bound to mess a lot of stuff up. I remember hot and humid. That's about it right there. Everything else is gonna be coated in a generous dose of 'artistic license'._

* * *

The last three legs of their trip were uneventful. They drove all day, quizzing one another on the finer details of their plan, discussing communication and contingencies from every angle as the black BMW devoured long stretches of highway. Masen only took short breaks for food and restroom visits, preferring to give them longer stops at night where they could drill, exercise and stretch in private. And sleep. Bella couldn't believe how good it felt to straighten her limbs and relax after a long day on the road.

Late Sunday morning, they crossed the peninsula just south of Orlando and kept on driving east until they came up against the wide blue-green Atlantic. Agent Masen took the car to another custom car wash to have the accumulated filth of the road removed and the car returned to a glossy black finish. While they waited, they found a lunch truck near the shore that served Puerto Rican food. They washed down empanadillas, rice and beans with bottles of ice-cold Coca Cola while they sat, watching the waves wash in with the regularity of a metronome.

"This is it," Bella mused.

"Yeah."

"I want Mary Alice to be able to do this. Sit on a cement wall, eat greasy food off a paper plate and stare out across the ocean."

"She will. Soon. We'll find her. We'll make it right."

"We will," she vowed, and finished her last meal as a free person.

It was full dark when Edward Cullen and his slave arrived at their hotel in Palm Beach, Florida on Sunday night. A concerned doorman stepped in to help her when she stumbled while climbing out of the car. Mr. Cullen shouldered him aside and took her arm, supporting her as she shambled sluggishly into the building.

"She's exhausted. She needs to lie down right away," he snapped as if her impaired state was the hapless man's fault.

"We'll get you settled in right away, sir," the doorman reassured him and hustled ahead to get the clerk's attention.

Marie clung to her captor's arm for support. It was solid and immovable as a pillar. The room tipped lazily so she tilted her head to make the lines lie straight again. Her eyelids were so. . . heavy. . .

"Marie," an angry voice hissed in her ear.

She shook away the fog and stood upright, clutching the edge of the polished counter when her ankles wobbled. It was so hard to concentrate. She could hear the strangest rushing sound as if torrents of water were pouring through the walls and ceilings. Her eyes were drawn to a blur of red right in front of her. With real effort, she was able to focus her vision. Oh. It was her fingernails. They were chipped, the pale pink and white of the natural nail showing through the garish red paint.

The concierge left his shiny desk to introduce himself and offer his services to their valued guests. Mr. Cullen declined stiffly, but the man smirked and bobbed his head as if the wealthy businessman had just promised to buy him a new car. They were finally escorted up to their room. Unlike the concierge, the bellhop really was rewarded for his services and walked away grinning with a wad of cash stuffed in his back pocket.

When the door swung closed, Masen bolted it and helped his partner across the living area to the massive bedroom. She slumped onto the bed with a victorious smile and closed her eyes.

"We made it," she slurred.

"You're gonna hate yourself for going to sleep in that ridiculous get up," he warned her, referring to her sequined minidress and the platform sandals that tied in a criss-cross pattern up her ankles and calves.

"Don't care," she moaned, no longer bothering to fight the effects of swallowing three Benadryls an hour earlier.

"Come on, Swan," he insisted. He helped her peel off the scratchy dress and shoes, then dumped her limp body unceremoniously into the center of the bed and folded the quilt over her.

She woke up eleven hours later.

Bella looked around, intending to thank him, but he was gone.

"This again? Oh, great," Bella moaned, flopping back into the soft mattress.

However, her annoyance faded quickly. It was Monday, June 18th. They had reached Palm Beach as planned. Agent Masen was already reaching out to key contacts that would solidify his cover and maybe, hopefully, garner an introduction to the reclusive Volturi family. And somewhere, probably no more than a few miles away, their targets were carrying on their inhuman depredations with no inkling that their reign was on the verge of being crushed.

Bella took stock of her surroundings. She had been drugged and borderline comatose when they arrived the night before. The bedroom furniture was heavy, made from solid walnut and stained a rich, dark brown. She had to scoot several feet from the center of the four-poster California king-sized bed to clamber off. The carpet was soft and thick, a blushing cream color that worked well with the dark furniture. The coffered ceilings gave the room an almost palatial feeling. Bella pulled aside one of the bedroom curtains and gasped. Their suite was on the seventh or eighth floor and commanded an unobstructed view of the ocean. She looked down on a crystal-clear pool, surrounded by nodding palm trees and padded deck chairs.

The rest of the suite was breathtaking. Obviously, Edward Cullen spared no expense where his comfort was involved. The sitting area had firm but inviting sofas in striped cream and silver upholstery with coral accent pillows. She hesitated to call them 'throw' pillows, although once she had that thought, she was tempted to pick one up and chuck it across the room, just to be perverse.

The dining area could seat eight comfortably. There was a wet bar and a kitchenette that made her own D.C. kitchen look squalid by comparison. And everywhere there were windows. The block of rooms sat on the southeast corner of the building. The south facing windows overlooked an emerald-green golf course that was so well manicured she would have felt guilty just stepping onto the grass.

Remembering that they would be staying in this hotel for days, if not weeks, Bella got to work unpacking their belongings. They had a pile of dirty laundry to send out, but there was still plenty to hang in the closets or fold away into the bedroom furniture. Bella set Marie's jewelry case on top of the vanity alongside her makeup supplies. She organized 'his and hers' toiletries in the bathroom next to the twin sinks. Her showering, exfoliating, hair and makeup routine took another hour, but only because she moved as slowly as she could. Finally, she straightened the bedclothes, then looked around. There was nothing else left to do.

Bella's stomach was grumbling, but she wasn't sure if Marie would be allowed to order food. Surely, Masen wouldn't let her starve. But Edward Cullen might. . .

Agent Masen's modified laptop was set up on the desk that occupied the nook adjacent to the sitting room. She tried to guess the password a few times, but nothing she typed let her through. He had probably set it up with maximum security, as his cover required.

Apparently, her cover required boredom and hunger.

It was well past lunch time when she heard the door unlock and Masen came in. Bella was lying on her stomach in front of the couch, doodling on an embossed hotel notepad. She had colored in the 'B' in 'The Breakers', then gone on to sketch a dozen curling waves in fine detail around the border.

"Hungry?" Agent Masen greeted her.

"Famished," she confessed, as she clambered to her feet.

"Come and eat. I'll give you the rundown."

He unpacked sandwiches and drinks and shunted silverware across the polished surface toward her. Bella examined her food before taking a bite. Subway was on the same level as her kitchenette. Completely, totally outclassed. These sandwiches were composed of layers of hand-sliced, oven-browned turkey breast, fresh basil, capers, halved cherry tomatoes and a balsamic reduction, pressed tightly between two slices of herbed focaccia bread. They lay on a bed of hand-picked spring greens. A fresh sprig of fragrant mint was the garnish.

"This is almost too pretty to eat," she laughed, twisting the black cardboard box one way and then the other.

"Hmph?" Masen grunted around a mouthful of food.

"Never mind. You're right," Bella agreed and bit into her sandwich. "Hrmm. Mmmmm. Oh my God. This is so good," she groaned, then didn't speak again until she had swallowed her last bite. She stretched her arms high above her head, the slumped back into her chair with a satiated sigh. "I was so hungry. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Masen replied, looking bemused.

Bella watched sheepishly as he finished the second half of his sandwich.

"So, anyway. . . You had some stuff to tell me?" she prompted.

"In a minute."

"You're stalling."

"No. I'm digesting," he teased her with a smirk, lifting another bite of salad to his mouth.

"You suck."

"Okay. Fine. I'll take pity on you. I had an appointment at 7:30 this morning. A gentleman banker has been dragging his feet about selling his local chain of five banks to a much larger organization. It seems the company has been in his family for four generations. He's having trouble putting a price on sentimentality. Poor business sense, if you ask me. My contact has offered to hire me to change his mind. Fast."

"You gonna take the job?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm thinking about it. Doesn't do to look too eager, right? He did promise to pass on Edward Cullen's information to a couple of his associates who are in the market for a game changer. We made small talk for a while and he gave me some tips about buying real estate along the water. He seemed very anxious to help when I told him my target price was under eight million. I'm meeting his real estate buddy for drinks tonight. What a happy coincidence that his realtor is on our list."

"Yeah. What a coincidence," Bella smirked. Aiming for multiple birds with each stone was the only way to get their plan moving forward quickly.

"They also happen to both play golf here at The Breakers on Wednesday mornings, and he asked me to join them."

"You play golf?" Bella asked skeptically.

"Ha. Hardly. I told them they could come cool off in the pool after their round. I'm buying lunch. How do you feel about modeling one of those tiny bikinis for a couple of slouchy old bastards?"

"When you put it so beautifully, how could I possibly refuse?" Bella simpered, then rolled her eyes. "Well, I might as well get my feet wet, so to speak."

"Good girl. I'll be gone a lot this week. Need anything to keep yourself occupied?"

"I guess I could always watch TV," she replied, wondering how long it would be before cabin fever set in.

"We'll hit the hotel gym in the mornings and spend some time in the restaurant or by the pool each evening. Will that help?"

"Yeah. I need face time anyway. Tomorrow night might be a good time for the collar demo," Bella added reluctantly.

"Sure. And we'll do the cuffs thing on Thursday. We'll definitely need maid service by then," Masen added.

"Ugh. Don't remind me," Bella twitched her shoulders uncomfortably. They had come up with half a dozen 'scenes' to contribute to their cover. None of them were going to be pleasant for her. Each one was going to require that Marie make a public appearance. Zoning out in front of the big screen for days on end was starting to sound better and better.

* * *

_A/N: Cyber high five's to anyone who got the 1-2-3-4-5 movie reference last chapter. _

_Anyone else conk out when they take Benadryl? If I take 1, I'm fine. 2 turns me into a narcoleptic zombie._


	29. Chapter 29

_A/N: Rebadams7, thanks for prereading. Bella turns a corner in this chapter and I was unsure of how it translated to the page. It's amazing what a few words of encouragement can do for your confidence!_

* * *

Marie's wardrobe included three slinky cocktail dresses. Late that evening, Bella picked one at random. She squeezed into the long-sleeved, metallic dress, adjusting the deep scoop neck to show more than an inch of cleavage. It had a slit that came so far up the back of her thighs that she was afraid to bend over. She flat-ironed her hair straight as the ninety four percent humidity would allow. Next, she applied dark eyeliner and eyeshadow with a dusting of silver over the top, then slipped half a dozen silver bangles over each wrist and stood nervously by the door, waiting for Masen to finish his preparations. He seemed to be taking forever. She couldn't stop herself from fidgeting, her fingers pulling fitfully at the collar around her neck. With the heat and humidity, moisture collected under the heavy metal, and her skin was starting to itch.

Bella had never appreciated the fact that beautiful men needed time to primp, too. Masen gelled his hair, groomed his eyebrows, trimmed his cuticles, moisturized his skin and polished his shoes. He dressed carefully in a neatly-pressed pair of slacks and a short-sleeved Tommy Bahama style shirt. Somehow, rather than looking like every other wealthy man enjoying a relaxing, tropical vacation, he managed to give the impression that he was itching to get back into something more formal. 'Relax' and 'vacation' were not words in Edward Cullen's vocabulary.

Masen had taken to shaving twice a day since Chicago. Smooth skin on a younger man would have looked boyish. On him it gave the impression of unswerving rigidity in his appearance; an uncompromising dedication to perfection. Lamplight reflected off his thin-rimmed glasses and highlighted the bridge of his nose and the planes of his forehead. In contrast, his brow and cheekbones cast deep shadows. He looked tense and watchful, like a man who never missed any detail, no matter how minute.

Ten minutes before the appointed time, the pair made their way down to one of the hotel's bars. Bella could feel the tug of Marie's persona, forcing her shoulders forward and her eyes down. But she was curious. She wanted to see where they were going and who they were meeting. When they reached an open booth, she snuck a quick look around the room. The bar wasn't very crowded, but there were still quite a few couples and small groups drinking, talking and laughing. It was a warm and inviting place, but she felt inexplicably cold. Suddenly she felt Mr. Cullen's fingers clamp down on her forearm.

"Sit here. Do not move," he spoke in a low, casual tone.

The silent 'or else' hung in the air above her. Quelling her natural desire to challenge him, Bella finally allowed her cover personality to consume her. She sank into the padded booth, clasped her hands in her lap and waited.

Edward Cullen returned a few minutes later and settled into the seat opposite from her with a smirk on his face. It wasn't a friendly look. It wasn't even an amused look. It was reminiscent of the expression she once saw on a young boy's face, watching as a half-crushed ant on the sidewalk squirmed and thrashed futilely before him, frying in the concentrated beam of sunlight that passed through the magnifying glass in his hand. Edward Cullen delighted in his own cruelty.

Marie's fingers twitched in her lap.

His smile widened.

"Sir. Miss. Your drinks. Are we expecting one more?" a young waiter asked as he placed three mixed drinks on the table.

"Malcolm Delancy. Should be here any time now."

"Very good, sir. Can I get you anything else?" he asked, looking from Mr. Cullen to Marie and back again.

Marie felt a heavy shoe nudge her foot. She looked up at the waiter and shook her head, forcing her lips to curve upwards into an approximation of a smile.

"I guess the lady is content. Thanks for the drinks," Edward dismissed him. Once the waiter was out of earshot he nudged her again. Harder, this time. "Drink," he ordered.

So she did. It was strong. Pineapple juice and white rum. Lots of rum. She downed half of the drink before setting it down, her fingers curling tightly around the glass as the icy fluid flowed down her esophagus and into her stomach. The cold was almost instantly transmuted into heat which bloomed out from her throat and stomach, leaving a numbness that was difficult to shake.

"Good?" her owner asked.

She nodded obediently.

"Finish it," he said, sipping his whiskey sour, never taking his eyes off of her.

Marie drained the glass and set it back on the table, feeling unsteady as the alcohol did its work, slowing her reactions and muddying her thoughts.

Right then a new voice broke in, "Mr. Cullen?" and they both looked up.

The man, presumably Malcolm Delancy, approached the table with a grin on his face. He sported a deep tan, dyed black hair and seemed very fit for a man in his sixties. He also had unnaturally white teeth, the kind of white you can only get in a dentist's chair.

"Mr. Delancy. Join us," Mr. Cullen invited him with a wave of his hand. He made no move to rise, so Marie scooted around to the middle of the half-moon bench, effectively trapped between the two men.

"Please, call me Malcolm," their guest said with a wide, brilliant smile.

Mr. Cullen nodded his assent but did not offer the same familiarity. Mr. Delancy paused expectantly, then recovered and turned to Marie with his hand held out.

"Miss, it's a real pleasure to meet you. I'm Malcolm. Yes, I know. It's a funny name for an old guy like me." His tone was officious. Too forward. Too much like he wanted her to reassure him that he didn't look old, that he actually looked incredibly handsome, or something equally flirtatious.

Marie's eyes darted nervously to Mr. Cullen's before she took the proffered hand. Touching other men wasn't allowed. But neither was being rude. She couldn't embarrass him. She couldn't make a scene. If she did, the punishment would be brutal.

"Marie," she supplied her own name softly, flinching when their hands met.

"A pleasure," he replied in a smooth voice, seemingly unaware of her discomfort.

Malcolm didn't shake her hand. Instead, he raised it to his lips for a kiss, then set it on the seat between them and patted it gently. His hand lingered for a second too long. Marie's skin was crawling, and she longed to pull her hand away. Unsure how that would be taken, she left it where it was.

A glass tumbler hit the table loudly and she jumped, but Mr. Cullen wasn't looking at her. He was glaring hostilely at their guest.

"William tells me that you're a tough negotiator. He says you own the coastline," he cut in sharply, moving straight to business.

"Oh. Well, I can't say that I own the coastline. Palm Beach is a pretty big territory, even for me. But I've closed one hundred million already this year. I'd say my record speaks for itself."

"Does it? Have you ever heard the phrase, 'Past performance is no guarantee of future success'?" Mr. Cullen baited him.

"My financial advisor says that all the time. It's a cover-your-ass disclaimer. But we all know that a fund manager who knows his stuff and earns consistently high returns for his investors is better than his competition, not just lucky. I don't believe in luck. I make deals happen. My clients walk away from the signing table smiling every time. I've got a list of references, and it grows every week. Feel free to call them. Any one of them will tell you the same thing. I got them the house they wanted, or I sold their house, and when I did, I left more money in their pockets than anyone else could have. And I did it faster, too," he finished confidently.

Mr. Cullen leaned back in his seat, swirled his drink gently and raised it to his lips. When he set it back down, he was smiling. "Okay. Tell me what you can get for me. Here are my parameters." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and pushed it across the table.

Marie couldn't read what he had written, but she could see the way Malcolm's eyes lit up. He was already calculating his commission check. After a few seconds, he set the paper back on the table and leaned forward.

"Eight million cash. That does put you in a very strong position. Of course we'll need proof of funds before we can submit an offer. . ."

"Done. I can have that in your hands tomorrow."

"Excellent. Well, how about I put together a list of the top four or five contenders for us to view, and I can pick you and your lovely girlfriend up tomorrow morning at 10 or so." His eyes swept over Marie's face and down her body, coming to rest on the line where metallic fabric met creamy, white thigh. He was oblivious to the murderous look on Mr. Cullen's face.

"I'll drive myself," Mr. Cullen said coldly.

"It's no trouble, really. In fact it's great to be able to share our impressions of each property before going on to-"

"I'll drive myself." Mr. Cullen's voice was louder, over annunciating every syllable.

"Well, then. Okay. Excellent. I suppose you want to learn your way around. Great idea," he said, recovering his enthusiasm gamely. "Although, I have to be honest with you, Ed-, uh, Mr. Cullen. You're not going to find a house on the water for anything less than fourteen million. Now, I know that sounds like a big jump up from eight, but I've got five different lenders that would pounce on the opportunity to compete for your business. You wouldn't believe how low rates are for super-low-risk buyers like you. You'd be stupid not to consider them."

Marie's eyes jumped straight to Mr. Cullen's face. He was angry. His eyes burned and his features had turned to stone. Malcolm realized his mistake almost immediately. He started back-pedalling, but it only seemed to make things worse.

"Then again, one hundred percent cash puts you in charge. It's the strongest bargaining position ever. Smart move. Really smart. Sock it away in real estate. You can always finance later. Step on up to the waterfront whenever you feel like it, really."

"Do I look like I need a hurricane magnet just so I can have somewhere to park my hundred-foot phallus?"

"Phall- uh. . . um, no! Not at all," the realtor coughed uncomfortably. "I have to admit, I'm not really a boating kind of guy, either. Why pay the upkeep, right?" he laughed a little too loudly, then took a large swig from his glass. He immediately started coughing. "My God. . . what is this?" he wheezed.

"I have no idea. I told the bartender to make something that a real estate agent would enjoy. Maybe he doesn't like realtors."

"No. . . no. . . it's great. Really. Just caught me by surprise," he rushed on, taking another drink to prove it.

"Hmm." The taciturn businessman didn't look convinced.

"So, does 10 o'clock work well for you?" Malcolm pressed, unwilling to let a quarter of a million dollars leave the table without a verbal commitment.

"Sure. Why not," Edward Cullen said, tossing a few bills on the table. "Come on, Marie. Let's get to bed."

Marie flinched, but obediently held out her hand and allowed him to help her out of her seat. She felt Malcolm's eyes on her, curious and hungry. The blatant reference to sex had completely arrested his attention.

"Take your time. Finish your drink. Order a few more if you really like it," Mr. Cullen smirked, eyeing the level in Malcolm's glass. He turned Marie toward the exit, his hand drifting down to rest possessively on her hip, far too low for propriety.

The older man turned a little green, but smiled and nodded amiably. "It's delicious. Thank you. I think I will." He raised his glass to toast them as they left the bar.

Trapped in her slave-girl persona, Bella couldn't turn and look, but she could feel his eyes on her until they turned the corner.

"Well, that was fun. I think we got him," Masen chuckled, once they were safely back in their suite.

Bella smiled her agreement, but she didn't feel right. Her hand was tingling. She couldn't shake the feeling of Malcolm Delancy's touch. She toed off her shoes and cut straight through to the bathroom to wash her hands. She dried them roughly on a towel, hesitated, then washed them again. Looking in the mirror, she barely recognized herself behind the cosmetics. She wetted a washcloth and hurriedly scrubbed the powder and paint away, leaving dark smudges around her eyes.

When she stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Masen was watching her speculatively. Unable to hold his gaze, Bella hurried to the bedroom, trying to undo her zipper as she walked. It caught in her hair and she started tugging, but it wouldn't release. Her world narrowed to her battle with the zipper. She fought futilely, desperate to escape the constricting garment.

She didn't realize she was crying until Masen's hands settled on her shoulders. She froze. With slow, careful movements, he released the fabric and the thick strand of hair that had caught in the zipper before pulling it all the way down.

"Thanks," Bella muttered, as she yanked off her bracelets and tugged her arms out of the clinging material.

She couldn't get out of it fast enough. Something was wrong. Her hands were shaking. The crawling sensation was climbing up her arms making her whole body tremble. This had never happened after one of their scenes before. As soon as they stepped out of their roles, they went right back to being Agent Masen and his rookie partner. Things snapped back to normal instantaneously.

Not this time. Marie wouldn't let go.

Bella couldn't figure it out. This hadn't happened when the guard at the Idaho resort had checked her out. Then again, he hadn't touched her. And she wasn't going to see him again in less than two days. Not like Malcolm Delancy.

Bella realized that if they did succeed in earning admission to the Volturi compound, she might see Mr. Delancy frequently. Him and dozens of other creeps just like him. What if something happened to Masen? What if they failed and she was trapped in the Volturi's clutches?

She could still feel Marie at the edge of her consciousness. Personality erased. Crammed into over-sexed clothes and the role of a slave. Weak. Helpless. Terrified and alone. She wasn't letting go. It was like the imaginary girl could feel Bella's own fear, and she was clinging to it as if it were her own.

Sobbing, Bella unhooked Marie's bra, tore off her underwear and spun around in a panic. It was no use. It wasn't just the clothes and makeup. Marie was becoming part of her, and that scared her like nothing else in the world ever had.

Like magic, Masen appeared beside her with a hotel robe which he hung over her narrow shoulders and pulled tightly around her torso. Her knees started shaking. Masen stepped closer and caught her just as they gave out. He carried her two paces to the bed and sat down with her legs across his lap.

"I've got you. It's okay, Swan. I've got you."

He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing until it almost hurt. Holding her hard against him until the shaking stopped. Holding her until she could finally nod and whisper defiantly, "Yeah. You're right. We got him. We got him. . ."

* * *

_A/N: Quite a few readers predicted this reaction. Unfortunately, Bella can't read the reviews for this story the way I can. :) Thank you all for reading and sharing your thoughts._


	30. Chapter 30

Short update, then I'm off to bed. Thanks for all of your wonderful feedback on the last chapter. I needed some resolution before crawling back into the dark musty place beneath the stairs. . . I thought you all might like some, too. :) Yes, I'm working on the next installment for Mosaic of a Broken Heart. Those characters are just a little more temperamental than these ones lately. Grrr.

* * *

"We need to talk about what just happened."

"Don't worry. I'm fine. I think I just slept too much last night, then the alcohol hit me harder than I expected."

"I'm serious."

"I know you are. But, really, I'm fine. Trust me," Bella insisted.

"Ms. Swan, you are not fine. Five minutes ago you were in tears and on the verge of a complete meltdown. Call me crazy, but that doesn't really inspire trust. Talk to me."

"I told you, I'm good. Don't worry. It won't happen again. I've got this." Bella was still wearing the robe he had given her and was standing at the bathroom sink, methodically removing the rest of her makeup.

"Agent Swan!" Masen's voice cut through the air, no longer patient or friendly.

He was her superior. The agent in charge of their mission. He was also pissed off, and Bella couldn't stop herself from flinching away from his anger. It seemed like Marie's reflexes were becoming more powerful than her own.

She set the blackened square of cotton down on the counter and stared hard at her reflection. She had puffy bags under her eyes, and the corners of her mouth was drawn down into a frown. Her thoughts were slamming around inside her skull, making her neck and jaw ache with tension.

They'd been traveling hard all week, and they were both over-taxed. That would wear anyone down, right? So she'd had a mini-meltdown. It had only lasted a few minutes. They had gotten through it together. Masen had helped her find herself again. She was holding her emotions in check as well as could be expected. So why was he forcing the issue?

A more rational voice cut through the chaos of her thoughts. She was in denial, and that had to stop immediately. Next time, he might not be able to help her without breaking character. She would have to do it all by herself. Bella swallowed hard and wiped her face once more to remove the final traces of makeup. He was still waiting for her response. He wasn't going to allow her to avoid the issue. Gritting her teeth, she turned to face it, and him, head on.

"Bree. . . Marie. . . whatever her name is. . . she's getting too strong. I feel like she's taking over. And the thing that terrifies me most is that I have to let her. She's the only one who can exist in that place. But there isn't enough room for both of us. Not in my head and not in my body. I don't know how you do it, Masen. You're not evil, but Edward Cullen sure is. Concentrated, refined, brutal evil. How the hell can you go from being the man who would cheerfully beat, rape or murder me, to holding me while I cry? I'm going crazy. I can feel it. It's started already. In a couple weeks, I won't even be able to recognize myself anymore!"

The words had started as a trickle, but grown to a cataract, pouring out of her unchecked. And she was shaking again. Shaking so hard that her breath rattled and her teeth chattered as she tried to talk. She desperately wished he would hold her like before. Just long enough for the shaking to subside. But Masen made no move to embrace her again. He didn't attempt to soothe or comfort her. He just crossed his arms and watched her dispassionately as she wrestled her body and emotions back into submission.

Bella pressed the heels of her palms hard against her eyes to stop the tears. "Shit. . ." she muttered, angry at herself for losing control again.

Masen grunted something unintelligible, then spoke up, "Let's sit down. Tell me what's really going on."

"I just did," Bella protested, as she followed him out to the dining area and took a seat across from him.

"No, you didn't."

"I did. I'm going crazy. That's it. I can't do it. I thought I could, but I can't. All he did was touch me, and look at me now! It was nothing! If I can't handle that, there's no way we can make our plan work."

"You're afraid of failing."

"Yes!" she almost yelled.

"Then don't."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't fail." He leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head, the picture of easy confidence.

"It's not that simple!" Bella protested.

"Yes. It is."

"Maybe for you. . ." she cried, looking away.

She was ashamed of herself. She had factored in a lot of details as they built their strategy. Being too weak to handle her role had never made it into the equation. When she had looked at herself in the mirror earlier, she'd seen a failure.

"Who is Edward Cullen?"

The change of subject surprised her enough to pull her out of her head.

"He's a millionaire consultant who gets paid to blackmail, strong-arm, bully and threaten people into getting out of the way of his clients' social, financial or political ambitions. He's a liar and a bully. He hates women and uses them for sex, even if they don't want it. He looks down on other men, especially those he thinks are weaker than him. Which is practically everyone. He thrives on pushing other people down. Essentially, he's a narcissistic sadist."

"No."

"What?"

"Edward Cullen does not exist. He is a construct. A character in a play. He is my creation, built to serve a specific purpose and nothing more."

Bella paused before answering. New 'School of Masen' lessons had been popping up less frequently, but she felt like this was a big one. Possibly a life-saving one.

"What are you trying to teach me?"

"Who is Marie?" he avoided her question.

Bella huffed, but decided to play along and answer him.

"She's a girl who was kidnapped eleven years a-" she stopped talking, struck dumb by a new epiphany.

She'd been working so hard to make Marie seem like a real person to her audience that she had started thinking of her as a real girl in her own head. But she wasn't real. No more than Edward Cullen was.

"She's a construct. A character I wrote to play a part in this mission. She's my creation. Nothing more," Bella finished in a quiet voice.

"Exactly. An elaborate creation, one you've spent many days sculpting, but she is still just a projection of your will. She has no past except the one you've given her. No present but what you allow. And no future beyond the final day of this mission. You are real. She is not."

"No. She isn't."

That thought saddened her. As pitiful as Marie was, as tragic as her story was, admitting that she had no life or future, and therefore no salvation, was physically painful. Hot tears dripped down her cheeks. She let them fall.

"She isn't. But Mary Alice is."

"Yes she is," he agreed calmly. "And Marie is going to be the instrument of her salvation. Marie. . . the character that you created for that exact purpose."

Bella wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe and looked up at her partner. He didn't look angry anymore. Just watchful.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be."

"So, the lesson for tonight is 'don't fail', huh?"

"Success is always easier than failure. Failure sucks balls."

Bella's lips twisted in disgust, but Masen didn't seem to notice. He was already half way across the room and getting ready for bed. Bella didn't move for almost an hour, lost in thought. It couldn't be that simple, could it? Ruling out failure only left one option.

They were going to destroy the Volturi, or else. . .

No.

They were going to destroy the Volturi. . . Period.


	31. Chapter 31

_A/N: As I said on my recent Mosaic post, I'm very, very sorry for the delayed update. I lost my internet on July 1st and only got it back up and running recently. ALL of my writing is on Google Docs. So. . . yeah. Not a lot of progress this last month. The King County library system is great, but my toddler does NOT like sitting still in his stroller while I write. I should be back to weekly-ish updates again now. Thanks for everyone who has sent me encouraging reviews!_

* * *

Bella felt marginally better about slipping into character now that she could sense the boundaries of her own thoughts. She had a feeling that holding onto herself while allowing the Marie persona to lead her body was going to be a little like juggling - clumsy, at first, but more rhythmic and natural with practice. She knew it could be done. Masen did it every day.

The sun was just coming up, and she was already dressed for the gym. Bella was wearing a cobalt blue sports bra and matching shorts. The bra came down in a deep 'V' in the front, offering more of a view than actual support. The shorts had a one-inch inseam and were ruched on both sides to draw the fabric even higher on her hips. The combination gave her more coverage than her normal underwear, but only marginally so. However, after a week of seeing so much skin when she looked in the mirror, Bella was practically immune to feelings of shame or embarrassment.

Bella was startled when she saw Masen step out of the bedroom. It didn't surprise her that Marie's workout clothes were as inappropriate as the rest of her wardrobe. Masen, on the other hand. . . The way he was dressed was almost obscene. She had to look away. She had seen him naked a dozen times, so that didn't even make her blink anymore. There wasn't anything overtly sexual about nudity. Not with him, anyway. But the tight black and maroon t-shirt he was wearing now was intentionally designed to accentuate every rigid muscle from his neck down to his waist, and his spandex shorts clung to everything else. The clothes screamed blatant sensuality. It felt wrong to see Masen that way, so she busied herself retying her shoes as a distraction.

When she stood up, Masen swung a white towel over his shoulder and inclined his head toward the door with an encouraging smile. Bella was grateful that her cover required her to keep her eyes down. As they stepped out of the suite, those thoughts evaporated. Passing the threshold was like flipping a switch or stepping onto a stage. Masen evaporated in a single breath. In his place, Edward Cullen towered over her. His heels struck the floor angrily as he walked, and he hurried her down the hall to the elevator. He may be nice to look at, she thought, but everything else about his character repels me.

Two floors down, the elevator stopped to admit another couple. They were both in their forties and dressed for golf. Bella could have been invisible for all the looks she garnered. Instead, both pairs of eyes were drawn repeatedly to her partner.

She knew Masen was completely in tune with every look and breath of the bodies around him, but he gave no indication that he was even aware of their presence. He was tapping away on his phone with an intense look of frustration on his face. The woman was breathing shallowly through her mouth, her eyes slipping to the left every few seconds to linger on his physique. The husband's scowls swung back and forth between the younger man and his wife, until he finally jutted out his lower jaw and stared at the doors, waiting impatiently for them to open.

Despite her discomfort, Bella understood that Masen dressed Edward Cullen that way for a reason. The effect he had on the people around him was entirely intentional. He wanted all eyes on him. He wanted men to be intimidated and women to be aroused. He demanded their admiration, yet he despised them all for their submission. The double standard was too perverse to fully comprehend for anyone who didn't suffer from a personality disorder, but as a component of Masen's cover, it made a lot of sense.

They made their way to the fitness center where Edward Cullen directed her brusquely to a treadmill. With a quick glance to her left and right, Bella saw they were alone. She reached for the button to start a program, but he shoved her hand aside and punched in the speed and duration. The machine lurched to a start and quickly accelerated to the programmed speed. Bella took several stutter steps to find her stride but didn't voice any objection. Instead, she focused her thoughts inward, allowing the physical instincts of the slave girl to govern her body while she observed the scene from the sidelines.

Her captor mounted the treadmill directly behind her and began running. Psychologically, it was torture. She could not see him, but she could smell his sweat, hear the pounding of his feet and feel the hot exhalation of his breath on her bare back. He pursued her relentlessly, never drawing closer, but never slowing down. Occasionally, her steps faltered, and she had to grab for the handrails to steady herself.

One time she almost fell to her knees, only catching herself at the last second by flinging her arms over the handrails. The friction left stinging red marks on the insides of her upper arms. She was scrambling to recover her stride when a man around her own age entered the room. He hurried over to help, tapping the pause button to slow the treadmill down.

"Hey, are you okay? These things can be dangerous. Maybe you should slow down for a bit and recover."

Alarmed, Marie looked back at her owner. He was watching her with predatory eyes, daring her to sound the alarm and face the consequences. Completely cowed, she thanked the interloper and restarted the machine, pushing the speed back up to the original pace and redoubling her efforts to keep up.

"Okay. I get it. Just tryin' to help," he said, shooting a concerned look back at the only other person in the room.

Marie kept running. She still had five minutes left. The pace wasn't any faster than she was used to, but the feeling of pursuit, of being hunted, seemed to rob her lungs of oxygen. The harder she breathed, the tighter her chest felt, until she was almost hyperventilating, her breaths whistling with every labored stride.

The other hotel guest reappeared on her left side, genuine concern showing in his blue eyes. "Hey, I know it's not really my place, but you need to slow down. You're gonna pass out and get hurt."

Marie shook her head and kept running. She hoped desperately that he would take a hint and leave her alone. Her owner usually avoided public confrontations, but he had a very short fuse.

"I'm serious. No workout is worth risking a broken ankle."

Behind her, she could feel Mr. Cullen's rage growing like a storm. The air pressure in the room dropped precipitously. Suddenly, the treadmill behind her spooled down. Oh no.

"You're right, boy. It's not your place. Now fuck off."

"Dude. Chill out. I'm just trying to help," the other man replied, hands held out in a placating gesture.

"She doesn't need your help. She'll slow down when her time's up. Not a second sooner."

Mr. Cullen's head was at the same level as her own. She kept her eyes fixed on an invisible point in space. If she looked at him now, she knew her legs would freeze. She would fall and he would be angry. Especially if she got seriously injured. He was always livid if anyone damaged his property.

"What, are you her personal trainer? Cuz that's just dangerous," her unwelcome champion argued, hands resting on his narrow hips beneath his baggy t-shirt.

"Spoiled rich kid like you. . . you don't know what danger is any more than you understand self-discipline. Now fuck off and get out of my face. I won't say it again." There was hatred in his voice and violence in his stance.

Spurred on by panic, Marie ran harder. If she could finish her required workout without any other mishaps, the young man might leave them alone. She couldn't imagine what would happen if he persisted. It could get ugly very quickly.

"Asshole," the man finally muttered, but he retreated to the far corner of the room where he began lifting a pair of dumbbells.

The timer clicked down to the final seconds, and the treadmill began to spool down. Marie sagged in relief, jogging at first, then walking slower and slower until the belt came to a complete stop.

"Here," the one-word command came.

Marie stepped off the treadmill, lurching when her feet hit the static surface. She took her place on the rubber mat where he pointed, lowering herself into the push up position. Her master stood over her with his arms crossed and counted out the repetitions. Push ups first, then crunches, flutter kicks, planks and v-sits. She was desperately thirsty and sweating profusely, even in the air-conditioned room.

Bella observed the way her limbs shook. Her balance was off. Her muscles didn't function in concert when she was constantly fighting the urge to curl into the fetal position. She distanced herself from her body's discomfort. She knew that, beneath the domineering facade, Masen was still there, gauging her limits. He would push her until the very edge of failure before letting up.

It wasn't a bad deal when she thought about it. Her body had never been so fit or strong, and the display of control was making an impression on the guy in the corner.

Her muscles were trembling with fatigue by the time a few more people had trickled into the room to begin their workouts. Among them was a pair of made-up and perfumed women, probably in their early thirties, both dressed in coordinated spandex outfits. They began their sweat-free workout right next to Bella, their eyes tracking her partner in the mirror. When she collapsed on the mat with a whimper at the end of her final set, they tittered. Edward Cullen's response was a seductive smirk, although he didn't actually make eye contact with either one.

What was wrong with them? Where did their sense of superiority come from? She had never met them before, but she already disliked both of them. Bella felt that a certain amount of disdain was justified. Their condescension made her sick.

"Water. Go."

Marie scrambled to her feet and hurried over to the drinking fountain. She guzzled as much of the ice-cold water as she could, heedless of the sloppy image she presented. In the mirror, she watched Edward Cullen standing and talking to the two women. One of them was touching his arm and shoulder, feeling the way his muscles bulged in his spandex shirt. He turned her around and stood behind her, one hand on her right shoulder, and one hand on her left hip. She began curling the three-pound weight in her hand as he guided her movements and encouraged her.

Bella's lip twisted in disgust. The whole scene was so superficial. The sexual tension rolling off the three of them had caught the attention of everyone else in the room.

"Is he your boyfriend?" The soft voice beside her left shoulder made her jump.

"Oh, I. . . I guess so."

"Demetri," he introduced himself, holding out his hand to shake hers. "Sorry about putting you on the spot earlier. I didn't realize it would complicate things for you."

Bella was so alarmed that is was only natural to allow Marie's fear and confusion out. She glanced over at her owner, but he was absorbed with his flirtation, only glancing back at her occasionally. Bella took a good look at the man beside her. He was average height and build, maybe a bit leaner than some. He had friendly eyes and light brown hair that curled softly around the tops of his ears.

"It's okay. Thanks," she smiled tentatively, then looked back at Mr. Cullen.

He was watching them. His hands were still guiding the tall brunette through her simple exercises, but he had her in his sights. She shivered.

"Your boyfriend seems pretty controlling."

"Yeah. . . well. . . I better get going."

"Wait. He seems pretty happy playing personal trainer over there. Hang out with me for a bit. I only have a couple more sets. That's a fantastic necklace, by the way. A little fancy for the gym, though, don't you think?"

Her hand rose involuntarily to the symbol of her imprisonment. Marie's gaze darted back to her owner's. Even in the reflection, his power over her was undiluted.

"Yeah. I. . . I better not. Thanks, though, De. . . Dem. . . Demetri."

"Maybe another time. And don't think I didn't notice that you didn't tell me your name," he teased, his cheek dimpling as he smiled.

"Bye," Marie whispered, and hurried over to stand beside her master.

He smiled down at her. The evil leer promised a private retaliation for the scene she had caused. She clasped her hands to stop them from trembling, bowed her head submissively and waited.

* * *

_A/N: I hate running on treadmills. Even more than running in general. With that said, I actually jogged 3/4 of a mile this morning without stopping. Yay, me!_


	32. Chapter 32

_A/N: Rebadams7 and Ninkita caught a bunch of typos for me. Because they are AWESOME! However, as always, if you catch any while reading, please PM me. I'm always grateful for another pair of eyes. :)_

* * *

Back in their rooms and back in her own body, Bella took a shower, then made herself up in preparation for their house hunting expedition.

"Why am I getting all dressed up when I'm not even getting out of the car?"

"The devil is in the details," Masen replied from the shower stall.

Bella made a face in the mirror, but returned to outlining her lips with a plum-colored pencil.

Masen toweled off next to her and grabbed his toothbrush.

"What? Not going to shave again? I'm pretty sure I see some stubble growing."

"Hrmm," he responded, glowering at her in the mirror.

"I'm just sayin'. Details, Agent Masen. Details."

"I've created a monster," he muttered into the sink between spitting and rinsing.

Bella laughed, happy that he was playing along and allowing her to decompress a little before their next scene. She got dressed in a pair of denim shorts and a halter top under a finely crocheted pullover top. The outfit was the most uncomfortable one yet. Bella unzipped her shorts, adjusted them and zipped them back up. It was no use. They were still way too short and seemed to be designed to give her a perpetual wedgie.

"I hate you."

"Hate him. If I had anything to say about the matter, you'd be wearing flannel pajama pants."

"You're dysfunctional."

"Stop complaining unless you really want to see what dysfunctional looks like. And stop rolling your eyes at me every time you think I can't see you."

"I was not rolling my eyes," Bella protested.

"Right." Masen pulled on underwear and an a-shirt, then helped himself to the breakfast that room service had delivered while Bella was in the shower. "So, your knight in shining armor. . . what was his name?"

"Demetri."

"Impressions?"

"He seemed genuinely concerned. But I think he was pretty annoyed about being bullied."

"He was smart to back off. I've got him outgunned," Masen quipped, flexing one arm while holding a bagel.

"Shoot me now. Your puns only get worse."

"Come on, Swan. He was scrawny. Of course he backed down."

"I don't know. He seemed pretty fit. Sure, he wasn't a big guy, but I wouldn't write him off."

"Oh, don't worry. I never write anyone off. He could have been a quadriplegic, and I would still consider him a potential threat. He talked to you afterward. That's enough right there."

"What, you think he was attracted to me?"

"Crazy, right?"

"Fuck you."

Masen burst out laughing and didn't stop, even as he bent over to tie his shoes.

When they left the suite at a quarter to 10, Masen was dressed in khakis and a white polo shirt, with matching artfully-distressed leather belt and shoes. His startlingly green eyes were hidden behind a pair of prescription sunglasses.

Bella put on her own over-sized shades and tucked her purse under her left elbow. It was only for show. The bag was empty. Marie really was a girl without an identity. Mr. Cullen had her other arm firmly looped through his. He walked her briskly to the elevator, then out through the lobby to the valet station.

Safely ensconced in the car, Bella breathed easily again.

"I'm glad it doesn't smell like Doritos in here any more," she said.

"Cheetos."

"Whatever. Nasty fake cheese smell."

"Edward Cullen doesn't sully his body with impure processed foods. I needed to stock up."

"They why didn't you answer my question when I asked what your favorite food was?"

"Because junk food is a category, not a specific item."

"I think you're being a tad bit literal. You could have said ice cream and I wouldn't have demanded a specific brand and flavor."

"Fine. My favorite food is anything that is fatty, salty, starchy and comes in a bag."

Bella looked askance at his trim waist. She was still torn between diagnosing him with a superhuman metabolism or a parasite.

"No, I don't have a tapeworm."

"I didn't say anything."

"I'm learning to read you better."

"Great. My partner is a psychic psychopath. Just what I needed."

"One of these days, you're going to hurt my feelings," Masen commented in a flat tone. "Okay, Swan, time to lock it down," he added, as they pulled up in front of a real estate office.

They only had to wait a minute before Malcolm Delancy stepped out onto the sidewalk. He was beaming at them, super-white teeth reflecting the late-morning sun like a row of tiny mirrors. Edward Cullen rolled down his window and gave the man a quick nod in greeting.

"Punctual. I like it. I'll pull my car around, and you can follow me to the first home," he said, handing his client a list of addresses and a small stack of property fliers.

Edward Cullen wordlessly flipped through the stack, tossed a few of the sheets out the window, then dropped the rest unceremoniously onto Marie's lap.

Malcolm scrambled to collect the rejects, his face falling when he realized his client had vetoed two of the three highest-value properties. It was an effort, but he rallied his ten-thousand-dollar smile and hurried off to get his car.

They heard the rumble before they saw the source. Malcolm was driving a Dodge Viper, the steel-blue pearlescent paint flashing rainbows of blue, green and purple.

"Ostentatious," Masen muttered.

"That's why he needs your business," Bella observed wrily.

"Lucky for him, I'm a sure thing. Let's do this."

They pulled out behind the sports car and followed the realtor through the streets of Palm Beach to the first home. They drove through the gated entrance and parked near the bottom of the terraced front entryway. Mr. Cullen rolled the windows down a few inches, climbed out and locked the car. Mr. Delancy startled when the horn beeped right next to him.

"Your girlfriend, she's not coming in?"

"She'll be fine. Don't worry. I cracked the windows," he said dismissively, and waved the agent on ahead of him.

Malcolm Delancy's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't protest. Bella watched them walk into the cool interior. She was sweating already. With shallow breaths, she settled back into her seat, determined to keep her body as immobile as possible. Maybe if she didn't create any extra heat, the wait would be bearable. She could feel the sweat pooling beneath her thighs. Her skin was sticking to the leather surface. She wanted to jump out of the car already, and they had been gone less than a minute. Bella picked a point of focus, a nearly invisible water spot on the windshield, and lost herself in it, distancing herself from the tortuous heat.

It took the men more than twenty minutes to tour the home. By the time they got back to the cars, her makeup was practically melting off of her face. Her owner got to the car and unlocked it, then paused to turn around and ask Malcolm another question without actually opening the door. The older man's eyes darted back to the passenger seat where Marie sat, sweltering in the tropical heat. He looked alarmed, but answered Edward Cullen's question about the external security measures without voicing his concerns.

As soon as Delancy turned back to his car, the door opened, letting in a rush of cooler air. Bella was practically shaking with anxiety. Heatstroke would be a horrible way to die, she decided. When Masen lowered himself back into the car and started the engine, he immediately switched the AC to its maximum setting.

"You okay?"

"Ugh. Yeah. I'm fine."

"Inhuman bastard," Masen grumbled.

"Him or your alter ego?"

"Both."

"Right.That's not confusing. So, how was the house?"

"Too flashy. And the neighbors are too close. The next one has a bigger lot. And walls. Should be a real contender."

"Don't all houses have walls?" Bella asked, laughing.

"Around the perimeter," he clarified, looking at her like she was an idiot.

"Duh. Of course. Maybe the heat got to me more than I expected it to."

"Drink up," was Masen's only reply as he handed her a half empty water bottle.

"Ooooh. So cold. Thanks," she hummed, savoring the feel of the icy water as it slipped down her throat.

"Sorry. I should have grabbed two."

"No. Keep the self-centered asshole thing going. I'm good."

"Speak up if it gets to be too much. I'll think of a reason to cut things short."

"Thanks," Bella replied gratefully, just as they pulled up to the second house. She was determined to tough it out, but it was going to be a long and painful day.

Edward Cullen and his appointed real estate agent viewed six properties that day. Marie was kept confined in the car almost the entire time. After the second stop, Malcolm began to treat her presence with the same casual dismissiveness as her owner. When they stopped for lunch at a quaint deli, he ran in to buy their food but only brought out two sandwiches. The two men stood between the cars and chatted, comparing notes and impressions of the homes they had already seen. Edward finished three quarters of his meal, loosely wrapped the remains, opened the car door and tossed it onto Marie's lap.

Malcolm laughed.

Marie flinched but ate the food without complaint. She even dabbed up the crumbs that were caught in the wrapping and licked them furtively from her fingers. She couldn't be responsible for creating a mess in her owner's car.

The ordeal finally ended when Mr. Cullen saw the sixth house. His demeanor changed almost immediately. There was a vibrancy to his movements, a faint excitement in his tone. After hours spent in Edward Cullen's company, Malcolm picked up on the change almost immediately, and his smile grew.

At eight point three million dollars, the house was priced out of the agreed upon range, but only by a small margin. The property was a half-acre lot with a massive house filling the rear two thirds of the parcel. The house itself was built almost to the lot line, but the floorplan included a central courtyard and a pristine pool.

Edward Cullen was looking for privacy. This home was ideal.

For the first time since they had set out from the hotel, Edward Cullen opened the passenger side door to let Marie out. He waited for a few impatient seconds as the dizzy, dehydrated girl tried to stand. With a grunt of annoyance, he pulled her out of the car and escorted her through the house behind Malcolm.

If she had been watching it on television, Bella would have been transfixed. The attention to detail was phenomenal, with perfectly laid travertine tiles throughout the entryway and cool white marble stretching from the living room on through to the formal dining area. It was bright and airy, luxurious but not over the top. They wandered around the house through a wide, bright hallway, with giant windows that looked out over the courtyard on their right. Doors and archways opened to beautifully decorated bedrooms, bathrooms and living spaces on their left.

The real beauty of the home was lost on Bella. More than five thousand square feet of living space for one man and his sex slave? It was absurd.

A refreshment station was set up in the cabana by the pool. Malcolm mixed drinks for himself and his client. Mr. Cullen poured a glass of orange juice and thrust it into Marie's shaking hand. She guzzled it. His lip twisted in disgust, as if her primal response was a personal affront, but he poured her another.

Marie stood off to one side, shifting her feet restlessly, as the men settled down at a table, and Malcolm opened his laptop.

"Let's talk price. We both know this is the one."

"You're the expert. How low will they go?"

"Are you willing to play hardball?"

Edward Cullen snorted.

"You're right. That was a dumb question. The market will support a price between seven nine and eight five."

"So offer seven fifty."

Malcolm blanched. "That low?"

"You say you're the best. Make it happen."

"Well, it could take time. I can put together a pretty compelling argument. Get an inspector in here to see if we can turn up any flaws."

"I'm in no hurry. Oh, and I emailed you proof of funds."

"I did see that. Thanks. Although, I noticed that you only confirmed seven million, five hundred th-" he paused. "Oh. You'd already decided, hadn't you? How?"

Edward Cullen smirked and took another sip of his drink, the ice clinking softly against the inside of the glass.

"Marie. Test the pool for me, would you?" Mr. Cullen called to the girl without looking back. He rested his feet on a padded ottoman and let out a contented sigh.

"But I didn't bring a suit," she whispered in distress.

Mr. Cullen didn't move, but his body stiffened.

"I. . . I'm sorry," Marie said, and stripped down to her thong and halter top.

Two pairs of eyes watched her as she tentatively stepped down the submerged steps into the pool. One was satisfied, the other was hungry. Glancing back over at them, Marie shivered.

"Is it too cold?" her master called, taunting her.

She shook her head and dipped completely under the surface.

Actually, it was cold. Blessedly so. The sips of water throughout the day hadn't been enough to keep her properly hydrated. Not with the amount of fluids she had lost through perspiration. But the two glasses of juice and the pool water were lowering her core temperature back to a safe level. Marie doggy-paddled across the pool and clambered awkwardly out the other side. Bella made a mental note to thank Masen later.

* * *

_A/N: I want a mansion with a courtyard swimming pool. And a cabana. And a drink. Wait. . . it's only 9:30 in the morning. Maybe later. :)_


	33. Chapter 33

_A/N: Can I just say, you guys are the most incredible crowd. I was floored by the responses to last chapter. And impressed. The emotions you have for these characters and this story make writing for you such an honor and a pleasure. Thank you!_

_Now, here's a funny confession. While I was reading through the reviews, there were a couple that made me go, "What? I KNOW I addressed that!" Then I realized that, while I had in fact written it already, I hadn't yet posted that scene. So, I hope this installment addresses some of your concerns and answers some of the questions from the reviews for Chapter 32. _

_One question that you won't find the answer to, "When will Bella and Agent Masen fall in love?" Uhhhhh. . . . don't hold your breath. :)_

_Thanks again for all the fantastic feedback. Love you guys! -Maggie_

* * *

"How are you really? Be completely honest," Masen inquired, once they were back in the car and on their way back to the hotel.

"A little dizzy. Shaky. I was nauseated for a while, but the swim helped. I'm okay now."

"Hmm," Masen said, doubtfully. "When we get back to the hotel, I want you to have a small snack, another glass of water and a nap."

"No argument here," Bella responded. "Thanks, by the way. The pool felt delicious."

"You were wilting," he said, matter-of-factly. "I told you to tell me if it was getting to be too much."

"I was playing it up a bit. Honest. I'm fine. But even so, thanks," she repeated. "So, the FBI is really going to buy a mansion?"

"We'll get it under market. The wife just filed for divorce. That's why they're selling. They're going to want to unload it pretty quick. After this is all done, we can turn around and sell it at a profit. Might even foot the bill for this entire operation."

"Aha. Agent Masen redefines fiscal responsibility."

"Nah, I'm just practical."

"What about this evening? Are we still on for dinner in the restaurant?"

"Let's wait and see. I don't want to push too hard all at once. This has been a rough day for you already."

"I can handle it."

"I'm sure you can. But being capable of something doesn't mean you should do it. You don't have to prove anything to me. Or yourself, for that matter. You're doing fine."

She wasn't in complete agreement with her partner, but Bella nodded her acquiescence.

Her hair and makeup were a mess, and her shorts bore an embarrassing watermark, but neither of them received a lot of attention as they worked their way through the bustling hotel lobby. People were coming and going dressed in everything from business attire to beach wear.

Back in their suite, Bella rinsed away the chlorine, conditioned her hair the way Jacob had taught her and rejoined Masen in the dining room. He was munching on a plate of cheese and crackers while working on his phone.

Bella didn't have much of an appetite, but she obediently ate everything he had put out for her, finished another glass of water and lay down on the couch. She was physically and psychologically drained, but unable to sleep right away. Her brain needed to unwind after the tension of facing down Edward Cullen and Malcolm Delancy. She turned on the television and flipped through the channels until she found a local news station. Thunderstorms in the forecast all week long. Nothing new there.

The topic switched to a recent fire and rescue operation, and Bella zoned out to the muffled tones of the anchorman's voice. Sometime later, the sound of Masen closing his suitcase snapped her back to wakefulness.

Bella sat up and asked, "Where are you going?"

"A meeting. I'll be back in an hour or so. Get some rest," he said with a smile and let himself out, hanging the "Do Not Disturb" sign back on the door knob behind him as he had every time he left the suite since their arrival. They didn't want the maid popping in when they weren't prepared.

She was curious about who he could be meeting. He hadn't mentioned anything earlier, as far as she could remember. Unfortunately, even her curiosity wasn't strong enough to combat the lethargy that seeped through her muscles. Bella yawned, pulled her robe a little tighter around her body and melted back into the couch.

She drifted back to wakefulness when it was full dark, with blurry images marching across the surreal dreamscape of her subconscious mind. She sat up and looked around, shaking her head to chase the phantoms away. Masen's face was lit by the bluish glow of his laptop as he sat typing at the table.

"What time is it?" Bella yawned, completely disoriented. She normally hated sleeping during the day for this exact reason.

"Almost 11."

"Shit. I slept that long?"

"Heat stress is nothing to scoff at. You needed the rest. Trust me."

She touched the blue stone that rested just below her larynx. It was cool to the touch, but sinister all the same.

"No demo tonight, huh?"

"I don't think it's necessary. Delancy seems quite taken with Marie. And I don't think there's any doubt in his mind about what her relationship with Cullen really is. Let's just roll with things as they stand."

Bella shrugged. The collar demo idea had been a greater source of anxiety than anything else they had thought up. In truth, she was relieved to skip it. He was probably right. If it wasn't necessary, then it was better for them to follow their current track.

"What are you doing?"

"Emailing your parents again."

"Wait. . . what? Again? What are you telling them?" Bella cried, rolling off the couch and hurrying over to see for herself.

"Does it matter? It's all a facade."

"Maybe for you, but they're my parents. What did they say?"

Masen gave an exasperated sigh and rubbed one eye impatiently with the heel of his palm. He had already removed his contacts for the night, but his eyes were obviously irritated.

"Be my guest," he said, turning the screen so she could read.

Bella scrolled through nearly a week of emails. Her jaw came unhinged.

"You've been emailing back and forth with my mom since we left? Why didn't you tell me? I could have written these."

"And said what? It's all random shit. Half of it is made up. Commentary about the gopher tasks at the office, yeah you saw that Facebook post, they're raising the rents at your apart-"

"They're what?"

"Don't worry. It's only 50 bucks a month."

"That's a lot of money!"

"See what I mean? There's no benefit to you doing this. It's just a distraction. Keep your head in the game."

"Wait, so you get to add playing Bella Swan to your acting résumé? You don't have to play me. I'm right here!"

"Not for long. As Edward Cullen, I can use my phone or laptop whenever I like. With the encryption and security features on these things, it doesn't matter what I say or do, or who I send it to. It's completely secure. You aren't going to be allowed to touch a calculator, let alone a cell phone. Lock it down, Swan. This is no time to get mopey and homesick."

"Lock it down, yourself, Masen! I'm not moping. And I'm not homesick. I just figured that if my mom and dad are sending me messages, they should get to the intended recipient."

"They will. You can review your backstory before we go home."

"Great. You have a comeback for everything, huh? What about your backstory? Should I be prancing around the digital universe wearing a Masen mask? Maybe I should be meddling with your stock portfolio or sexting your girlfr-"

"Are you done?" he cut her off with an irritated look.

"I. . ." Bella folded her arms and glared. Maybe she was being immature. In fact, her emotional outburst was pretty much proving his point for him. She ground her teeth together in frustration. "Ugh. Fine, yes. But, you really piss me off sometimes."

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't. Now, what do you think about shopping for a pet? Is that something you would do?"

Bella looked at him like he was crazy. "No. Please no."

"Not even a snake? Or a pig?"

"Fucker," she laughed, taking a swipe at the back of his head. He didn't even bother trying to block it.

"Apology accepted."

"Jerk," Bella grumbled, but his teasing had broken through the tension, and her anger drained away quickly. "So, what now?" she asked, finally sitting down beside him and plucking a tortilla chip out of the bowl that rested in the middle of the table. She scooped up some salsa and guacamole and waited for his instructions.

"We'll hit the gym again in the morning. Then there's lunch by the pool. Tomorrow afternoon, I'll continue with my prospecting activities, so you'll be chilling on your own for a few hours. The rest is up to the Volturi."

"How do you think they'll make contact?"

"Best guess? An invitation to a party. Maybe an outing on a boat. Somewhere far away from prying eyes so they can screen electronic transmissions and conversations until I'm properly vetted."

"Hmmm. And William Gibbs and Malcolm Delancy are both active participants, according to Tanya."

"That's right. What we've seen so far seems to confirm that intel. The invitation will probably come from one of them."

"How long do you think it will take?" Bella wondered, thinking of the long hours she would be spending alone in the hotel.

"If we're lucky, sometime next week." He stretched his arms above his head and let out a big yawn. "Damn. I'm ready for bed. You coming?"

Bella gave a start. "I. . . No. Not yet. I just slept for more than six hours. I was thinking of watching a movie."

"Cool. Don't forget to keep drinking water. And there's food in the fridge. We'll head downstairs a bit earlier tomorrow."

"What time?"

"5:30 okay with you?"

"That sounds like a terrible idea, but okay. Why not? G'night," she said, watching his back as he crossed the room. As soon as she heard the bathroom door shut, she checked his laptop, but the screen was already locked. "Fucker," she muttered again, simultaneously annoyed and amused.

Either he had very deeply ingrained habits, or he didn't trust her. He would be smart not to. She wished she could have sent one message to her mom. Just one. She wanted to be the one to type "I love you guys!" before signing off. Even if they didn't know the difference, it would have mattered to her. She settled for the best she could do, under the circumstances.

"Love you guys," Bella whispered into the air, wishing they could hear her, but knowing that they couldn't. And they wouldn't. Not for a long time.

Bella finished the rest of the chips, then, realizing she was still hungry, went over to the kitchen to explore the contents of the refrigerator. They were disappointing. She wanted something sweet or chocolatey. What she found was hummus, sliced veggies, a few apples and foil packets of tuna. The door held skim milk, nonfat Greek yogurt and string cheese. It looked like the refrigerator of a health-conscious, middle-aged control freak.

"You are taking this too damn far, Masen," she said under her breath. She helped herself to an apple and two sticks of cheese, filled a glass at the sink and settled back down in front of the TV to watch an "I Love Lucy" marathon.

Masen shook her awake at 5 am.

"Come on, party animal. Time to workout." He turned off the television and picked up her trash off the coffee table. "And brush your teeth."

"Hnnngh," Bella groaned. "Why do I feel hungover?"

"That's not uncommon after an episode of heat stress."

"I wasn't that bad off," Bella argued.

"No. But that doesn't mean you're unaffected. Take a couple ibuprofen. After lunch I want you to take a nap."

"Yes, Nurse Masen."

"Sarcasm won't get you anywhere."

"That's obviously never stopped you," Bella joked.

"And look where it's gotten me."

"Trapped in a luxury hotel suite with me?"

"A fate worse than death. Come on. You look like shit. Hurry up."

"Sure. We've gotta be the first ones there. . ." she grumbled, as she shuffled off to the bathroom to make herself presentable.

As it turned out, they weren't the first ones to arrive. They reached the hotel fitness room at 5:37. Demetri was already there, walking on the treadmill that Edward Cullen had used the day before. He lit up when he saw Marie slip through the door, and even maintained a neutral, welcoming expression when her controlling 'boyfriend' stepped into the room right behind her.

Mr. Cullen's reaction was not neutral. He took one glance at the other man and muttered under his breath, "Pissant."

With Demetri using the treadmill in the middle of the bank of aerobic equipment, Edward Cullen chose a different routine. He set Marie to work climbing an infinite staircase for 30 minutes. She had only taken four steps when he hooked his finger in her necklace and pulled backing, jabbing her between the shoulderblades with his other hand.

"Stand up straight. You look like a rodent."

Marie gave a surprised sob, but stood up straighter. "Yes, sir," she gasped.

He watched her for several more seconds before scanning the room. When he saw Demetri watching them, he glared. With an unintelligible grunt, he dropped down on the rubberized floor and began doing push ups.

Mr. Cullen's pace exactly matched Marie's steps. Sixty beats per minute. He hit a count of 100 and kept going, his inhalations as relaxed after one hundred repetitions as they had been at ten.

Bella knew her legs were going to feel like rubber by the time they were done. She was frustrated by Marie's need to look straight forward. She was curious to see how Demetri was responding. Why was he there so early? They had arrived at 6 the day before and he hadn't been there yet. Was Masen right? Was he interested in Marie?

She was only four minutes into her stairclimber workout when Edward Cullen changed exercises, doing full sit ups on the floor beside her without a mat or a foot bar. Her spine and hips ached just thinking about it. He was making a statement, and it wasn't directed at her.

A few minutes later, he crossed behind her to the pull up bar that was bolted into the wall. Bella could see him in the mirror. Thirty pull ups, just like clock work. He dropped from the bar and started doing lunges in place. His back was ramrod straight, and there was a military-like precision to all of his movements.

When he had completed a set of sixty lunges, he returned to her side and began the routine all over again. He was never more than three paces away from her. When Marie's timer beeped and the stairclimber slowed down, he was there at her elbow. She stepped off the machine unsteadily, taking his proffered arm out of need, not by choice.

Beneath her fingertips, Bella could feel the blood rushing through his veins and the sweat that clung to his skin. His breathing, however, was still unhurried. Obviously, he could have kept going. The man was a machine. That was an unsettling thought. At that moment, he was not her friend.

They both took turns at the drinking fountain, then he escorted her to the door. A few other people had arrived during the final minutes of their workout, but Mr. Cullen hadn't given Demetri any opening to approach her again. Marie's eyes slid to the side as they passed the treadmills. Demetri gave her a cheeky smile and winked. She caught her toe on a seam in the floor. Embarrassed, Marie dropped her eyes to the floor and didn't look back.


	34. Chapter 34

_A/N: Every time I address the romance issue, I manage to muck it up further. Is that going to stop me from trying one last time?_

_Nope. Of course not!_

_YES there are some romantic underpinnings to this plot. Many of you had caught words, actions, nuances of attraction here and there. It's just that the romance CAN'T exist between Masen and Bella. Not yet. So, when I say "Don't hold your breath," it's because it's gonna be a while until there is room for that. And when we do get there, it's still not gonna be your typical romance. So. . . in a nutshell. . . Not NEVER. Just NOT YET. Cool? Cool. :)_

* * *

"Ready for lunch?"

"Do you mean, am I hungry? Because I don't think I can sit next to those creepers and eat."

"Try."

"I know what you're going to say. It's good practice."

"Good girl," Masen grinned down at her. He double checked his pockets for his key card and phone. "Time to try out my new digital recording app."

"Excellent. Although, tagging these two would be simple even without technology. From what you've told me of your Monday appointment with Gibbs, and the shit I witnessed yesterday with Delancy, they aren't very cautious."

"Or very smart. Good thing neither of them is a spy, right?"

"Anything that makes our job easier is a blessing in my book," Bella said as she checked her makeup a final time, then followed her partner out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, the pair was seated in a private bungalow Masen had reserved by the south pool. The glossy teak table could seat six, but was only set for four. Hidden speakers played an easy jazz number in the background, although the notes were often drowned out by the conversation and sounds of splashing from the pool. On the patio, just outside the open French doors, lounge chairs with tropical-print fabric sat in the dappled shade beneath waving palms.

It was so gorgeous, like a scene from a movie. Bella looked past the pool, out across the crystalline ocean waters. Cumulus clouds tumbled and grew taller. They would have late afternoon thunderstorms again, enough to cool the earth and cleanse the air. Right now, though, it was too hot, even in the shade.

When their waiter appeared, the mood shifted instantaneously. Mr. Cullen stood up from the table to talk with him privately. Marie watched a thick stack of bills trade hands. The waiter would keep his eyes and opinions to himself.

Marie stared longingly at the ice water on the table before her. The glass was sweating in the heat, and so was she. She watched a drop of condensation bulge and grow, then break free from the surface friction and drop down the side to pool around the base of the glass. Her master hadn't given her permission to drink yet. He was too busy talking to their waiter and looking out for their guests.

The two men arrived soon after them, dressed in polo shirts and Bermuda shorts. Delancy's eyes sought her out immediately, taking in her tiny, transparent dress and the midnight blue bikini underneath. His smile turned her stomach. She instinctively understood that look. If he had her, he would hurt her. He was a man who often felt powerless around other men. He needed a woman under his thumb to feel strong. Or better yet, a girl.

Mr. Cullen gestured to the table, inviting William Gibbs and the realtor to take their seats. He himself sat directly across from Marie. She didn't know which was worse, being within reach, or feeling his eyes on her constantly.

"I ordered margaritas all around. They'll be right out. Carlos here will take your drink order if there's anything else you want before our food arrives," Edward Cullen spoke smoothly, behaving more civilly than she had even seen him act before.

"Sounds great, Edward. I have to admit, I don't normally take the time to relax like this. It's a real treat. You'll have to let us return the favor sometime soon," William said, with a deep sigh.

William Gibbs was in his forties, blond with a touch of gray and a bit soft around the waist. Essentially, he was completely average-looking. If Marie had to choose between the three men, he was the easy pick. He didn't scare her like the other two did.

"You offered to bring me on board for that project. I think I'm in your debt. I stand to make a lot of money once I close the deal," Mr. Cullen responded, with the hint of a smile on his otherwise hard features.

"In my debt? How do you figure? You're going to make _me _look good. I shared the proposal you sent me yesterday with the council. They were practically salivating. If you can deliver results anywhere close to as fast as you say you can, you'll be number one on everybody's referral list. There are literally billions of dollars riding on this purchase."

"Even so, I owe you. Perhaps you can both join me for dinner this Friday. Something a little more private, with a bit of professional entertainment, if you will. Regular relaxation is so important," Mr. Cullen drawled.

"I already have an event on my calendar for this Friday," Malcolm cut in, "but I could be convinced to decline my invitation. Will your darling little vixen here be joining us?" His eyes lingered on Marie, even as he addressed her owner.

"Undoubtedly. She rarely leaves my side," Mr. Cullen smirked, no longer so visibly irritated by Malcolm's lecherous behavior. The two men had practically bonded the day before. Malcolm Delancy idolized his newest client and would never dream of crossing certain boundaries without permission. That was all the narcissistic businessman wanted from him anyway.

"Marie, is it?" Gibbs asked, acknowledging her for the first time.

Marie lifted her eyes to his face and nodded. She even managed a small smile. Mr. Cullen required her to smile when people talked to her. It was a poor disguise for the truth, but people saw what they wanted to see.

"Marie," Mr. Cullen addressed her in a coaxing voice, "Come sit with me."

"Yes, sir," she replied quickly, but her movements were slow and stiff from her earlier workout.

When she came around the table, he pulled her into his lap. His hand came to rest on her thigh. He clamped his long fingers possessively over her bare leg. She flinched, but stifled the whimper of discomfort.

"Have a drink," he said, holding his margarita up to her lips.

She swallowed immediately, feeling the tang of lime on her tongue, the cool tingle of the liquor in her throat and the burn of salt on her lips. The other two watched raptly, transfixed by Edward Cullen's complete command of her choices and movements.

"Now give me a kiss."

Marie stiffened in his lap.

"Now."

She swallowed her revulsion and twisted in his lap, tilting her face up to his. His eyes gleamed with anger. She wasn't allowed to hesitate, especially if there were witnesses. The muscles around his eyes tightened infinitesimally, so she leaned in, touching her lips to his, hoping to appease him by her display of submission.

When her skin finally pressed up against his, he didn't kiss her. He bit her. She cried out and recoiled, but his arms were like an iron cage around her. He ran his tongue across her lower lip, tasting her blood and fear. Then he laughed, a playfully satisfied chuckle.

"You are so delicious. Salty but sweet."

Tears ran down her cheeks, stinging evidence of her humiliation. She couldn't even wipe them away. Her arms were still pinned.

"Have a little more, sweetheart," he said, holding the salt-rimmed glass against her bleeding lower lip. "That's right. Good girl," he crooned, as she obediently drank from his glass again.

She'd heard those same words so recently, but in a completely different voice. From Masen's mouth, they elicited pride. In Edward Cullen's voice, they brought only fear. Her lower lip was on fire, the mixture of salt, alcohol and citric acid scorching the place where his teeth had cut her.

"Gentlemen, please pardon her. Marie is very emotional, aren't you my girl?"

She nodded her agreement. That was his only expectation of her. Ever. His will was her command. Her mind and body belonged to him. He had only been telling her the truth when he said she owned nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"You two make such an attractive pair. How did you find her?" Gibbs posed the innocent-sounding question while tasting his own drink. He puckered his lips at first, adjusting to the tart flavor.

"Luck. Fate. I don't presume to know the difference. A business associate of mine was liquidating his assets. I guess you could say I was in the right place at the right time. When I first saw Marie, I'll admit I was skeptical. She wasn't looking her best. But, it was time for a change. I like a certain amount of. . . predictability in my life, if you can understand that. I'm not getting any younger." Cullen shifted the girl in his lap so she was straddling his left thigh, facing the table with her back pressed against his shoulder. He patted her hip and chuckled, "It's worked out well so far."

"I can see that," Delancy broke in. "Don't fault me for feeling a bit jealous. Not everyone has your resources. Some of us are still stuck renting when we'd rather buy. I made the wrong choice at a young age, and it's set me back ever since. Thankfully, the bitch moved to California last year. She eloped with our lawyer, if you can believe it. Good riddance, I say. I'm happy he took her off my hands and left me here in peace."

"Same here, except I was exceptionally stupid, and I got married twice," joked Gibbs. "After I account for taxes and two alimony checks every month, I'm lucky if I can net fifteen G's. If I could go back and change things, I would. But that's the way of it, right? Age brings nothing but stiff joints and regrets."

"Lighten up, William. You've still got plenty of time on the clock. Look at me. I've got almost 20 years on you, and I can still break a filly from the gates. I hope you don't mind, Edward, but William filled me in about your little quest. I hope you are successful, especially if it means your pretty pet comes back on the market. I like her. She's so fresh and innocent."

"Innocent? She might be as simple-minded as a child, but I guarantee she doesn't have a shred of innocence left. I've made sure of that," Cullen boasted.

"Is that why you're in the market again? Getting bored already?"

"It doesn't hurt to see what's out there. New home, new job opportunities, new friends. . . change doesn't have to be a bad thing," Cullen said, raising his glass to toast his two new 'friends.'

Marie zoned out as they continued to talk around and about her. She hoped she was causing her owner some discomfort. She shifted her weight slightly, digging her tailbone into his thigh. He pinched her inner thigh angrily and pushed her off his lap. Just then, Carlos approached the bungalow entrance, pushing a cart laden with dishes.

It hurt, but being free of his touch was worth it. She returned to her own seat as quickly as her stiff muscles would allow her to. Marie worked at making herself invisible, taking small bites of food and alternating them with sips of water. Once the men started talking about business negotiation tactics, they ignored her presence.

The lunch dragged on, and Bella decided to take some initiative. As long as she didn't break character, she was pretty certain she could move around within the immediate area and not raise any eyebrows. She didn't know how Masen could sit there, joking and laughing with the enemy, pretending to be even worse than them. With his friend Gibbs present, Malcolm Delancy had shed some of his sycophantic mannerisms and was becoming bolder with his assessments of the women around the pool deck, interrupting both Gibbs and Cullen with lewd comments whenever a beautiful woman passed by. It was making her feel ill.

Bella stood up quietly and slunk over to one of the lounge chairs. She lay down on one of the chairs. The filtered sunlight and slight sea breeze were more pleasant companions than their sleazy guests. She closed her eyes and listened, hoping one of them would feel bold enough to refer to the Volturi by name. Masen was an expert at manipulating the conversation so that they did most of the talking. He had revealed very little about his character's past or present. Even so, they seemed to dance around the subject of the sex trade, merely alluding to the lavish parties and exotic entertainment they had experienced at the home of a local philanthropist. They hadn't gained any useful intel yet.

"I've been informed by a trusted advisor that I would benefit from adding more write-offs to my annual return. What's the minimum donation?" Mr. Cullen asked in a mildly curious tone.

"Hypothetically?"

"Of course."

"One thousand for a one-day pass. Fifteen for the month. One hundred big ones for the annual membership."

"That much? No wonder you're complaining about running out of money. With those rates, I would assume everyone would go independent."

"Mr. Cullen. . . variety is the spice of life," Gibbs replied with one eyebrow raised. "Besides, as I'm sure you've found, ownership has its limitations. All that additional security, the responsibility, the need for training and discipline. . . And besides, many of my best friends are still padlocked to a missus. It gets complicated. Pleasure a la carte is certainly a valuable service. There is never a shortage of new donors."

Carlos returned with a water pitcher, walking around the table refilling glasses and clearing away plates. He came up next to Bella's lounge chair and set a water glass down on a white napkin on the small side table. She thanked him gratefully. She picked up her glass less than an inch and stopped. There was a note on the damp paper, written in faint pencil.

_You're even more beautiful in the sunshine. -D_

She sat up straighter, looking furtively around the pool deck. Twenty yards away, Demetri was watching her, a teasing grin on his face. She glanced back over her shoulder. Mr. Cullen was completely absorbed in his conversation.

Bella was stumped. What would Marie do? Would she be scared by the interest of any man, no matter how non-threatening? Or could the attention of a younger man, one who was friendly, cheerful and handsome, be enough to overcome her fear of her owner's wrath should she get caught?

After several seconds wasted in deliberation, she allowed fear to take the lead. With shaking hands, Marie crumpled the napkin and slipped it into the potted palm near her chair. Then she got up and reclaimed her seat at the table without looking back. For a split second, a pair of familiar green eyes met hers questioningly. One heartbeat later, the hardness returned, erasing Agent Masen. She would have to explain her actions in private.

Half an hour later, Bella was leaning toward the bathroom mirror, scrutinizing her cut lip.

"Come here. Let me take care of that."

Bella turned around and leaned against the counter as Masen examined the superficial wound. She thought back to the scene and how surreal it was to blend their imagined characters with reality. If she concentrated too hard on the overlapping personas, Masen/Cullen and Bella/Marie, it was dizzying.

"It's strange."

"What's strange?" Masen asked, as he dabbed peroxide on her lip, then smoothed a thin layer of benzocaine over the cut.

"You don't look like him."

"Who? Edward Cullen?"

"Yeah. I mean, of course, you look like him. You are him. But at the same time, there are expressions and mannerisms that are entirely his, that I would never see on your face. Does that make sense?"

"Absolutely. I feel the same way when I look at Marie. Agent Isabella Swan would never follow orders without talking back." He winked down at her. "If any man tried to treat her the way Edward Cullen treats Marie, he'd lose his left nut. If he didn't back off, he'd find himself experiencing an impromptu circumcision with a blunt blade and no anesthetic."

"Oh my gosh, Masen! Do you have to say everything in the crudest way possible?"

"Umm. . ."

"Nevermind."

"Sorry. What I meant was, you did great down there. You're a very convincing actress. Gibbs and Delancy are in _your _power, completely under _your _spell."

"Thanks. That's reassuring," she smiled. "Of course, when I'm in that place, it doesn't feel like that at all."

Masen paused with his hand resting alongside her jaw. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"This," he replied, stroking his thumb gently beneath her swollen lip.

"Why would you apologize for that? It's so minor. A week ago I was black and blue from my shoulders to my knees. You've never apologized for hurting me before."

"Of course not," he stepped back and returned to his normal cocky tone. "You deserved those bruises for being such a pain in the ass."

"I think you lost me. Deserved them or earned them? Not that I expect a medal for being a good punching bag or anything," Bella laughed, collecting and straightening their first aid supplies.

"Good, because the Bureau isn't going to be giving out medals for this mission no matter what happens. The details of this operation are going to stay under wraps until we're both in the ground. We've already heard what the Volturi do to people that get in their way. We want to keep your real identity protected as much as possible."

"Keep saying 'we' and I'm going to start thinking you're more like Special Agent Mahardy than you claim."

"Work for the Bureau long enough, you'll be saying it, too."

"Living that long is as good a goal as any with the direction things are going. Oh, and by the way, Demetri slipped me a note. I guess Mr. Cullen isn't the only one who can bribe a waiter."

"Did he now? What did he say?"

"He called me beautiful."

Masen raised an eyebrow. "Beautiful? That's it? He really is a pissant."

"He's a flirt, that's what he is."

"Yeah, flirting with somebody who is obviously off limits. Maybe I should let him talk to you again. If he tries anything, I can pound his ass into the ground. If that doesn't paint Edward Cullen as the type of megalomaniac prick they want, I don't know what will."

"Masen! You can't just beat the crap out of an innocent person because it serves our mission."

"Wake up, Ms. Swan. No man who makes a pass at another man's girl is innocent. I don't care what he assumes about the terms of their relationship. He might not be a criminal, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't have his ass kicked."

Bella ran her tongue over her lower lip worriedly. Edward Cullen was absolutely ruthless. If it came to blows, Demetri would be sporting more than just a sore lip. He was the only person on this entire crazy trip who had tried to intervene and help her. The thought of him paying for that in blood bothered her. And it bothered her even more that it didn't seem to bother Masen at all.

* * *

_A/N: Every time I see or hear the word "Bothered" I think of Jimmy Fallon's skit called "Edward Cullen is Bothered" where he makes fun of our favorite brooding vampire. Even better was the time when Robert Pattinson was a guest and climbed up in the tree WITH Jimmy Fallon to continue the joke. Gotta love a guy who can laugh at himself. :)_


	35. Chapter 35

_Regarding this scene: EdwardsFirstKiss called it 7 chapters ago. :)_

_I've be completely lax about responding to reviews lately. Sorry. I'll try to catch up, at least with addressing direct questions. Thanks for all your wonderful feedback!_

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Bella was consumed by conflicting emotions the next morning. Masen hadn't brought up her unwelcome admirer again, not even when he returned from his afternoon appointments. They endured a stiff and tense dinner in one of the hotel restaurants, showing their faces, but not trying to draw any undue attention. Masen was playing low cards, waiting for the right opportunity to show Edward Cullen's hand.

Waiting wasn't Bella's strong suit. It frustrated her to not know what was going to come next. It made her anxious when she considered that, if an invitation arrived, when it did, her role would be nearly powerless. While Isabella Swan the FBI agent was hoping for success, Bella looked forward to their infiltration into the Volturi with dread.

Their Thursday morning workout plans conjured a similar mixture of emotions. She wasn't ashamed to admit that she was flattered by Demetri's attention. He was an attractive man, but more than that, he had demonstrated compassion and courage toward Marie. He was just the kind of guy she could see herself dating, if it weren't for her current mission. The potential for a conflict between him and her partner's violent alter-ego was tying her stomach into knots.

They reached the hotel gym without incident. She quelled the urge to smile when she saw that Demetri was already there, but he didn't stay for long. Bella was only one mile into her assigned run when her admirer quit his weight-lifting routine, got a drink at the water fountain and left. He shot her a quick wink as he passed in front of her treadmill, but it was not obvious enough to invite any sort of reaction from her possessive and antagonistic "boyfriend."

Bella chanced a look over her shoulder. Masen's features were locked into the scowl she associated with Edward Cullen's irritated face. She couldn't tell if he had been watching Demetri or not. He didn't say anything.

Acting the part of the tyrant, Masen pushed her through a grueling routine of calisthenics. Her muscles were sore, but she was able to keep up, and she was grateful for the break he had given her upper body the day prior. Just as he released her for a water break, the women from their first gym visit showed up, bubbly, excited and absolutely gushing enthusiasm for their workout. They shifted course, walking straight over when they saw her master standing near the mats.

Bella took advantage of the reprieve from his attention to shake out her arms and stretch her back and sides. She took sips of water, taking as much time as possible before she had to return to his side. As she was turning to go, she noticed a folded napkin on the small shelf beside the drinking fountain. It was marked with pencil. Her stomach flip flopped. Looking furtively around, Bella flicked the napkin open so it lay flat on the shelf beside her. She read the faint note out of the corner of her eye as she took one last drink.

Breakfast? Coffee? If you can get away, meet me by the elevators in the lobby at 9:00. Not a date. I just want to chat with a pretty girl. -D

P.S. Smile

Bella couldn't smile. She didn't know what she should do. She absolutely could not meet him. It would blow her cover to smithereens. But should she try to communicate with him in some other way? Let him down easy so she could focus on their mission with a clear conscience? Should she tell Masen about the second note? She was pretty certain that she would not like the results if she did.

When every action will bring bad results, sometimes no action is the best option. Bella decided to pretend she hadn't seen it at all. She casually nudged the napkin into the garbage, grabbed a paper towel to wipe her chin, then dropped it into the bin to cover the note.

Edward Cullen's eyes were boring into her when she looked up. The sweat that coated her skin seemed to turn to ice. She shivered. How much had he seen? How would he react? His groupies had begun their workout, obviously disappointed that he had declined to take an active role.

Marie slipped between the banks of machines and equipment to rejoin her captor, and they left the room without trading a single word.

"You okay?" Masen asked as he locked the door behind them.

"Huh? Yeah. I'm great. Why?" Bella replied with a slight stutter.

"You seem a bit jittery this morning."

"Stress dreams," she said, by way of explanation.

"Are you sure you're up for this today?"

"Yeah. It's fine. Let's stick to the plan."

"Okay. Get a drink, but not too much, and have something to eat. Make sure you use the bathroom now. This could take a few hours, although I really hope not."

"I can hold it for a while if I have to. Just don't leave me there all day."

"I won't. I promise," he reassured her.

Bella ate, brushed her teeth and used the bathroom, then went back out to the bedroom. Masen had worked quickly, altering the appearance of the suite. He had business notes and data strewn around the executive desk. The remnants of a meal sat on the table, with a plate of scraps on the floor beside it. The bedclothes had been straightened, but a nest of blankets lay crumpled on the floor by the foot of the bed.

Masen was dressed in a long sleeved shirt and slacks, but he had rolled up the sleeves and left the top two buttons open in deference to the heat. Bella stripped off her gym clothes, dropping the dirty laundry into the hamper in the closet. She knelt down at the foot of the bed, put her wrists together and raised them above her head.

Masen attached a leash to the ring at the back of her collar and looped it through the bed frame. Using one of his ties, he bound her wrists behind her neck and secured them to the leash.

"That okay? Not too tight?"

Bella wriggled her hands and fingers. Her circulation felt okay. "It feels fine. It's kind of scary that you're so good at this. Did you practice?"

"I've seen it done plenty. Tying a knot isn't really that hard. Making sure it's secure without being too tight is the real challenge."

He pulled the rubber band from her hair, mussing it a bit so it straggled about her shoulders and over her breasts. He took a step back, evaluating the scene.

"Good. Last step. You ready?"

Bella swallowed her trepidation and nodded.

Masen took a rolled sock and carefully wedged it into her mouth. Using another tie, he secured the gag and tied a square knot in the back. With his fingers, he tugged out random strands of her hair, shifted the tie a bit, then stood back again.

"Can you breathe okay?"

Bella nodded. It wasn't entirely the truth. She had to breathe through her nose, and it felt as if there wasn't enough air. She knew it was only panic. She could control it. Bella willed her heart to slow down, taking deep, even breaths. Her lungs gradually relaxed.

The sock tasted of cotton and laundry soap. It sucked up the saliva in her mouth and swelled, pressing hard against her tongue and palate. If she thought too much about it, it made her want to gag. She worked her jaw to the left a right a little. There wasn't much room to move. Swallowing was a chore, but it was manageable.

"Housekeeping starts their rounds on this floor in about 15 minutes. When they enter, I'll be less than three minutes behind them to do damage control. It'll be over before you know it. Okay, Swan. Showtime."

Bella nodded her understanding, but he had already turned away.

Masen gathered his briefcase, phone and keys, then paused at the door. She thought he was going to turn back around and say something, but he just twitched his shoulders and left the suite. Bella heard the latch click into place. She knew that the "Do Not Disturb" sign had been placed carefully on the floor just inside the door. It would appear that the sign had been knocked off accidentally in passing.

Down in the restaurant, Masen would be ordering breakfast. Using his phone, he would be able to observe the hallway from a camera he had planted behind a light fixture. They had timed the return trip from the restaurant last night. Unless the elevator stopped at every single floor, he would be back in the suite before the poor women had figured out what to do.

She was nervous about housekeeping's response. If they took too long to reach the bedroom, the entire scene would be obsolete. However, Masen assured her that the first thing they did in every room was strip the bed and gather the soiled linens. All she had to do was wait.

The minutes ticked by and her arms began to burn. Her range of motion was severely limited, but Bella flexed and relaxed her muscles to keep the blood moving. Every time her thoughts settled on the discomfort of the gag or her bonds, she consciously redirected her thoughts to something cheerful or mundane.

There was no clock within sight, but the band of sunlight from the window crept slowly across the bedroom floor. It had been at least an hour since Masen left. Her fingers felt a bit numb. She wiggled them, chasing the tingling, burning feeling away temporarily.

Her throat felt so dry. The sock was completely saturated with saliva and was almost immovable. Her jaw throbbed. She tried to swallow, but it made her gag. With her eyes watering profusely, Bella focused all of her energy on remembering the words to American Pie. The long verses helped her disassociate herself from her body, and she could almost envision the scene the cleaning ladies would first see when they opened the bedroom door. It was shocking and disturbing. Their first instinct would be to address her verbally. Then they would grow alarmed and want to make sure there was nobody else in the suite. Finally, they would attempt to untie her.

Unless they had knives, it would take them several minutes to work Masen's knots loose. By then, Masen would have returned to play out Edward Cullen's role of the outraged, offended, embarrassed sex fiend with the kinky submissive girlfriend. Marie's job would be to lie, lie, lie, as convincingly as she could. She would assure them that she was okay. She was totally fine. She was not only a consenting adult, but this was what she liked, what she wanted.

As with every scene they had created, the intention was to attract attention but lace it with ambiguity and confusion. Edward Cullen brought Marie out in public, surely that meant she was with him by choice, correct? If not, she would have raised the alarm long ago, wouldn't she? Besides, she wasn't bound in any way. Not visibly. Even when he had locked her in the car in front of Delancy, she could have unlocked the door and climbed out at any time. She could leave whenever she chose. That's what their reason would tell them.

People didn't like to intrude. They didn't like being a nuisance or putting themselves out there to be corrected or embarrassed publicly. Demetri was the only one who had possessed the guts and conviction to speak to her and challenge Cullen. She wondered how long he had waited by the elevators before acknowledging that she wasn't coming. Did he see Masen come down without her? If so, he knew she was alone and choosing not to come to him. Assuming she had even seen his note, of course.

Bella's thoughts whirled in circles, and the sun continued to inch across the carpet. It was getting warm, and she was so thirsty. She was also starting to sense growing pressure in her bladder. The stress of confinement made it feel worse than it was. She could hold it.

What was Masen doing? He must be done eating. How long could he sit in the restaurant, sipping coffee and staring at his phone before people began to wonder? What if he got a call and didn't see-?

Just then there was a sharp knock at the door.

"Housekeeping!" a male voice rang out.

Bella's heart sank. There was only one man on the entire housekeeping staff, and Asshole Murphy had placed him right outside her door. Bella mentally prepared for his reaction. There was nothing else she could do.

She heard the front door open, the slight squeak of overloaded casters and one set of careful footsteps.

"Hello? Anyone here?"

She knew that voice. Demetri! What was he doing here?

The bedroom door swung open, and his eyes found hers. He raised one eyebrow and leaned casually against the door frame.

"Well, I must say, this is a surprise," he said with a slow smile.

* * *

_Regarding Demetri. . . yeah. A lot of you saw this one coming. He's one sneaky bastard._


	36. Chapter 36

_Still haven't gotten around to responding to reviews. But I did finish editing the next chapter! *Pats self on back*_

_Voting is now closed for the MeetTheMateContest, but you should still head over and check out all the fantastic stories. I had the pleasure of BETAing a couple of the entries. So much talent here! Winners will be announced mid September._

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Nothing crushes the spirit quite as effectively as realizing you have put your faith and hope in the wrong person. Denial turned to horror in a split second. Bella's eyes widened, and she began to struggle. She sobbed involuntarily as she felt the sharp tug of the leash at her throat and wrists. The knots didn't budge, they only tightened. She could never escape without assistance, and it was immediately apparent that Demetri had no intention of offering his.

Demetri's smile stayed fixed in place as he came over to examine her bonds. She noticed that his hair was gelled back, and he was wearing a hotel uniform. He wore thin leather gloves and held a smartphone up, biting his lip thoughtfully. He snapped several pictures of her, zooming in on her face from several angles. He ran his hands around her wrists and tested the strength of the collar and leash.

Tears streamed down Bella's face and dripped from her nose, pooling in the silk tie that dug into her cheeks. She couldn't tell whose feelings were possessing her body, her own or Marie's. The flood of fear and betrayal were one and the same.

Masen had said three minutes. Had he seen Demetri enter their rooms? Was he on his way? How long until he arrived? What would happen to when he did?

Demetri was humming tunelessly, poking around in the closet and bathroom. He walked back and forth in front of her several times, but, apart from his initial response, he seemed completely disinterested in the naked girl tied to the bed.

"How long has he had you?" the man asked without preamble, but it was obviously a rhetorical question. Bella's low moan of despair didn't tell him anything useful.

"That doesn't look very comfortable. Does he leave you there often?"

Bella gave a halting nod, but Demetri wasn't even looking at her. He was rifling through Marie's jewelry box.

"I'll be done soon. Just relax," he spoke casually as he left the bedroom.

Bella could hear him shuffling papers at the desk. His footsteps sounded on the kitchen tiles. She heard him opening and shutting the refrigerator, drawers and cabinet doors. The seconds ticked by. Bella wished she had some way of warning Masen. He was walking into a trap!

Demetri returned to the bedroom and stood in the doorway watching her. How had she ever thought his eyes were kind? They looked blank now, as if there was no soul behind them. Why it shocked her, she couldn't say. After all, she had been playing a role all along. So had Masen. If the good guy could play the villain, was it so hard to believe that the villain could play the saint?

How had he found them so quickly? Masen had only started making casual inquiries on Monday. Demetri had made his first appearance on Tuesday morning. He had been surveilling them for at least two days, maybe three. Who did he report to? What had he told them? And where was Masen? Bella could no longer hear anything beyond the rushing of blood in her ears and the wheezing sound she made as she tried to force air down her tear-clogged throat.

"Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

His words were not reassuring. He might not have plans to hurt her, but his tone implied that he wouldn't be surprised if somebody else did.

"Your Mr. Cullen must have a lot of important business to leave you here all alone so often. He could really use better security."

The minutes dragged on. All of a sudden, Demetri's head came up, and he smiled, turning to face the main room.

"Mr. Cullen. At last. We were just talking about you!"

Bella had never stopped struggling, but when she realized that her partner was finally there, she began to thrash about. She tried to scream, but the sound gurgled in her throat.

"You little shit. What are you doing in here? Who sent you?" Masen's voice carried all of the hatred and conceit she was used to hearing in Edward Cullen's voice, but his eyes were his own. He took in her condition with a fast look. She was just where he had left her two hours earlier. Frantic and terrified, but unhurt.

"You're so intelligent. I think you can answer that question for yourself," Demetri smirked, his posture and tone conveying his cocky confidence.

Masen's face twisted into a mask of fury. He sent the housekeeping cart careening across the room. It crashed into the wall and toppled over. He barrelled across the room and made a grab for Demetri, but the smaller man slipped snake-like beyond his reach. Bella's eyes couldn't open any wider. Masen was fast, but Demetri was faster. His movements were a blur to her.

They traded punches, Masen only delivering glancing blows as his smaller opponent danced barely out of range. Demetri darted in periodically, landing several solid hits to Masen's ribs and stomach. Demetri's fists struck with cracking thuds, but Masen didn't flinch or fall back. He leaned into them. The blows didn't seem to faze him at all. He appeared to be content to let the intruder tire himself out.

Suddenly, Masen swept one leg out to trip Demetri, following the kick with a wicked jab to his opponent's stomach. Demetri twisted slightly at the last second, and the blow glanced off his lower ribs, but Masen's hands darted out to deliver three more hits in quick succession. The meaty thuds made Bella's skin crawl, and she shrank away from the battling pair.

Demetri was bent almost double, and his mouth gaped wide like a fish out of water. A trickle of air gurgled in his throat. Masen grabbed him by the nape of his neck and slammed him face first into the floor, then planted his left knee between the younger man's shoulder blades. Bella flinched when a knife appeared in Masen's hand, and he held the blade flat against Demetri's scalp, just behind his ear.

"Okay, you fucker. Now we talk. Who sent you?"

"My employer is a careful man. He means no offense," Demetri choked out, his voice muffled by the carpet.

"No offense? You've been skulking around for days, following us around, flirting with my girl. And now I find you in my rooms rummaging around in my belongings with your pansy-ass gloves on. You have three seconds to tell me who sent you before I slice off your ear and shove it up your ass."

Bella was panicking. How far would Masen go? What sort of game was he playing? She knew now that Demetri was the enemy, but could she really kneel there and watch her partner torture him, disfigure him for life? As if she had a choice. _He's bluffing. He has to be! Please let him be bluffing._ The fabric around her wrists burned as she twisted and tugged. She was too horrified to watch, but she couldn't make herself turn away.

"I am not at liberty to disclose his name, but I was asked to deliver a message to you, if you turned out to be the man we hoped you were."

"Spit it out. I have better things to do today than mopping your blood up off the floor."

"It's in my pocket. Left rear."

Masen released Demetri's neck, but kept him pinned beneath his full weight. He continued to hold the blade flush against his captive's skin. Masen reached with his left hand and pulled an embossed card out of Demetri's pants. He scrutinized it for several seconds before standing up and pocketing the knife.

"I'm not sure if I should accept. First impressions are important to me. I can't say that I'm happy right now."

"But I'm not really your first impression, am I? What about Chicago?"

"So I _was _being followed. Your men lack finesse. And I saw straight through Maria's clumsy attempts to arrange a meeting. One that I'm sure would have left me at a severe disadvantage in any sort of negotiations. No. We're a long way from the trust necessary to do any sort of business together. I'm afraid I'll have to reconsider my original request. Tell your boss thanks, but no thanks."

Masen bent over and picked up the smartphone that Demetri had dropped in the struggle. His brow darkened as he scrolled through the photos Demetri had taken of Bella and their possessions. He pocketed the phone and glared at the Volturi spy.

"How long can you keep this up?" Demetri asked. He had regained his composure, but his posture was not as straight, and his voice had an odd hollow tone to it. "Your lifestyle doesn't hold up well to public scrutiny. Imagine what would have happened if any other hotel employee had walked in here this morning. You might be able to mince words with bankers and bureaucrats, but nothing you say can make the average person okay with the type of entertainment you prefer. Stay in one place too long, and you're going to find yourself with more attention than you really want. You're new. I can tell. You think I'm over-confident? Look in the mirror, Mr. Cullen. You need real security. Round the clock guards. Invisibility. We can offer you that, no strings attached, while you consider all your options. Surround yourself with like-minded individuals, and you'll learn why everyone turns to us eventually."

"And as soon as I let her out of my sight, you whisk her off, lock the gates, and I'm out a quarter of a million dollars. No thanks."

"That would never happen. My employer values hospitality and his duties as a host more than anything else in this universe. If you accept our invitation, you will be extended every honor and courtesy. You have my word."

"The word of a spy. Priceless, I'm sure. And if I don't accept?"

"Open season, sir. We protect our interests. You do _not _want to be left out in the cold."

"That sounds like a threat," Masen replied woodenly, his nostrils flaring in distaste.

"Merely the truth."

Masen evaluated the Volturi's emissary coldly, flipping the card absently between his fingers. Bella looked back and forth between them, trying to guess her own fate.

"Your threats mean nothing to me. Life is short. We all know that. If I die tomorrow, I really don't give a shit. But I have to admit. . ." The silence hung between them for several seconds. Masen looked down at the card in his hand, then pocketed it. His lip turned up the slightest bit. "I am curious. . ."

"So, shall I tell our staff to prepare a room?"

"It would be my pleasure to accept your employer's kind and generous invitation. But let me be clear, if I ever see you near my girl again, they will never find all the pieces of your body. You have _my _word."

"That would be an inconvenience. However, I doubt we'll ever have cause to meet again." Demetri bowed stiffly and exited the room. Moments later they heard the front door close behind him.

Bella looked to Masen. He features were inscrutable. Rather than make a move to release her, he began walking through the room, looking carefully at every piece of furniture, the light fixtures and framed artwork on the walls. There was a crease forming between his eyebrows. He disappeared from the room and returned a few minutes later with a serious look on his face.

"Sometimes I think you are more trouble that you're worth," he said coldly.

The frigid tones of Edward Cullen's voice chilled her to the core, as sharp and brittle as cracked ice. He raised his right hand and rubbed his temple meaningfully. Bella nodded her understanding. Demetri had bugged their rooms. The Volturi may have invited him to stay in their complex, but they didn't trust him. Not yet.

Masen cut her bonds with the same knife he had used to threaten Demetri. Her muscles trembled, and she sank limply into the pile of bedding.

"Get dressed, you're coming with me. And hurry the fuck up. This bullshit has already made me late."

Bella nodded, dressing as quickly as her shaky limbs allowed. She slipped several clunky bracelets over her wrists to hide the angry red weals from the ties, then trailed behind him all the way to the car. As soon as she shut her door, she opened her mouth to speak, but a quick look from her partner silenced her.

She had so many questions, but Masen's angry visage made it clear that she might have to wait a long time for answers.

* * *

_When I imagine Masen fighting, I think of a young Clint Eastwood. Who do you picture?_


	37. Chapter 37

_A/N: Dear Mosaic readers, I am working (have been working for some time) on the next chapter. Unfortunately, it's absolute shit. When it ceases to be shitty, I will post it. Send me good vibes. :)_

_OTL reviewers, For all your WONDERFUL casting suggestions, thank you. Scott Eastwood. . . wow. He sure has grown up. The family resemblance is undeniable! But I think his dad will ALWAYS be one of my favorite actors. Dirty Harry, the man with no name, even Space Cowboys. He's just. . . . he's Clint Eastwood. An icon. Ain't nothing else to say about it. _

* * *

Masen parked the car on the outskirts of a grocery store parking lot. He opened his briefcase in his lap, pulled out a small electronic device and plugged Demetri's phone into it. Less than a minute passed before he unplugged it, removed the SIM card and crushed it with his teeth. He pocketed the device, handed his laptop, briefcase and phone to Bella, and motioned for her to get out and step away from the car.

Remembering the debugging device he had first demonstrated when they claimed the car in Seattle, Bella stood two stalls away and waited. A short time later, Masen gave her a quick smile and a nod, so she scampered back to the car and climbed in. Masen reversed out of the parking slot and moved the car several blocks away to a crowded mall, where he wedged the Bimmer between two other dark-colored cars.

"We can talk now?"

"Should be safe. First thing's first. Are you okay?"

"I'm fi-" Bella began, but balked when he scowled at her. "My wrists are burning, my arms and shoulders are sore, my jaw aches, I need to pee and I can't think about you holding a knife to that creep's ear without wanting to vomit."

"Good. You're fine, then."

"Wha-?" Bella gaped.

"Your physical and emotional reactions are perfectly normal, considering the circumstances. However, if you were going to minimize them and deny how that scene affected you, I was going lose it."

"I don't minimi-"

"Yes you do. All the time."

"I-," Bella started, but bit her tongue. Arguing with Masen wasn't going to get her questions answered. "So what happened back there? I know my concept of time was completely distorted, but that felt like a lot more than three minutes."

Masen didn't reply at first. He was looking straight through the windshield at the water-stained concrete barrier, not moving, barely breathing. For a moment, Bella thought he hadn't heard her.

"I had a lapse in judgement," he finally said, speaking haltingly. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"What do you mean, a lapse?"

"The housekeeping crew was taking 30 to 35 minutes per room. With the low quality image, a different hairstyle and his uniform on, I didn't recognize Demetri at all. Not like that's a good excuse."

"Crew? What happened to the other housekeeper?"

"He probably sent her off on an errand, then ditched. I'll look into it today. Anyway, the pair entered the unit beside ours at quarter past 10. When Tanya called me ten minutes later, I took the call. She was looking into somebody for me, and I was too eager to hear what she had discovered."

"What did she have to say? Do you have a new lead?"

"Her intel is obsolete now."

"Could you please, for once, just answer my question?" The words came out sharper than she intended.

Bella was feeling angry and brittle. The after effects of the fight with Demetri were starting surface. He hadn't done anything to her physically, but Masen hadn't had any way of knowing that would be the case. The gravity of it all was sinking into her bones. Her fingers were trembling, so she wedged them under her thighs. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

"Shit. . ." Masen cursed under his breath. "I had sent her pictures of Demetri and asked her to look into him."

"But why? How did you know he one was of them?"

"I didn't. But his behavior bothered me. Didn't it seem odd to you, that out of the dozens of people we've interacted with on this trip, he is the _only _one who made an effort to address you instead of me? He was different. He stood out. I never trust an anomaly."

"I thought he was just being nice," she stammered self-consciously. Thinking of Demetri's transformation from ally to enemy made her feel ill.

"Yeah. Nice. That's one way of putting it. He was fishing, Swan. Get that through your thick skull. All his flirty B.S. was intended to test you. If you had demonstrated even an ounce of independence or hinted that you were attracted to him, you could have destroyed all our chances of success."

"I wasn't attrac-" Bella tried to say, but she choked on her own denial.

"And I have tits and a tail." His tone was sarcastic.

"Fine. I thought he was nice. And good-looking. There's nothing wrong with that. It's embarrassing enough to know I got played without you rubbing it in. Even so, I didn't let my feelings stop me from doing my job. And when did this become about me? I did my part. I stuck to the plan. You're not the one who was strapped naked to a bed with some fucked up stalker taking pictures of you!"

Bella realized she was yelling and crying. She didn't even know where the tears came from. One second she was fine, the next second, tears were pouring down her cheeks. She didn't recognize what she was feeling at first. Then it hit her. She felt betrayed. She had trusted Masen with her safety. Her life. If Demetri had been so inclined, he could have kidnapped, raped or murdered her while Masen sat downstairs, slurping coffee and joking around with Tanya.

Her partner sat silently, looking straight ahead, his hands clamped white-knuckled on the steering wheel. They were in an emotional stalemate. Masen wasn't speaking, and Bella had said more than she intended to.

Bella wiped her eyes with her fingers. They came away smudged with mascara. "So when did you figure it out?" she finally asked, hoping to break through the tension.

"My call with Tanya only took a few minutes. I ordered another drink and kept my eye on the video feed. Some other hotel guests came and went, but the door to the neighboring suite was still closed. Forty minutes had gone by since the cleaning crew went in. I thought it was odd, but I figured the tenants were especially messy. Then I noticed something was different. The "Do Not Disturb" was hanging on our door."

"Oh," Bella breathed.

"Yeah. I almost pissed myself. I got upstairs as fast as I could. The whole way up, I was ready to hit someone. I was stuck in an elevator with this little brat and his parents. Too much money, not enough sense. They stood by and watched as he pushed every goddamn button on the panel. I wanted to snap his pudgy fingers. The imbeciles just laughed."

"Masen!" Bella gasped.

"What?"

"Nevermind. Hmm. I wonder if Demetri saw you come out of the elevator without me. Although he did seem surprised when he found me alone in the room," Bella mused.

"Why would he be staking out the elevators only to wait more than an hour to make his. . . Wait a second. Why would you think he would be staking out the elevators at all?"

"It was just a thought," she said, trying to brush it off.

"Don't. Just don't. My fuse is about one millimeter long right now. If you-"

"He left me another note!" Bella blurted out, then clamped her teeth shut to stop herself from saying anything else.

He glared at her, but didn't make a sound. In the close confines of the car, Bella could feel his rage building like a hurricane. His jaw was rigid and his nostrils flared. She couldn't look him in the eye.

"Explain. Now," he bit each word off angrily.

"This morning. At the workout room. He left a note by the drinking fountain inviting me to breakfast at 9. It wasn't like he stuck around to watch me read it. I doubt he even knows I saw it. I wasn't going to respond at all. . ." her voice trailed off lamely.

Masen balled his hands into fists. He was shaking violently. Bella shrank back in her seat, instinctively trying to put more distance between herself and the imminent explosion.

"We're talking about a man who was arrested at the tender age of 14 for skinning his next-door-neighbor's dog alive and setting it on fire," Masen roared. "He's not even human, he's a psychopath! Photographic evidence places him in San Francisco on the exact dates of the Volturi's massacre of that rival gang. Remember that conversation? How scared you were about having this carved into your chest?" He brandished the silver and white invitation in her face. A beautiful "V" was embossed in the center of the card. "And you're passing notes with him like some gullible little second grader! If we weren't under a fucking microscope, I would shake you so hard right now. So help me, I have never wanted to hurt somebody so badly in my entire life. You. Are. Driving. Me. Insane."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, trembling.

"Fuck!" he yelled, punching the dashboard repeatedly.

"Stop! Stop it! Please!"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. . ." he continued to mutter, tugging on his hair until it stood up in every direction.

Bella didn't believe that he would hurt her. In fact, she knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn't. But the emotional storm was so out of character that she felt as if she was sitting in the middle of a broken compass with the needle spinning and whipping wildly around her. If Masen could be vulnerable to emotions, if the stress of their mission could crack his iron facade, they were doomed to fail.

"Do not ever conceal something like that from me again. Do you understand me?" he gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"I said, do you understand me?" he barked.

"Yes, sir!" she sobbed, feeling barely an inch tall.

"I need a minute. I need. . . I. . . God. . . Just don't move."

With that, he got out of the car, slammed the door and strode off, his arms swinging stiffly at his sides. Bella clenched her hands tightly between her knees and waited, shell-shocked, overwhelmed and completely confused.

* * *

_*hides under desk* I didn't see this coming. It just kind of sort of happened. What can I say? He's unpredictable._


	38. Chapter 38

_A/N: Every so often, a longer story requires a transitional chapter between acts. This is one of those. Bits and pieces and other important business. Chapter 39. . . the games begin._

_Thank you again for all of you honest and direct feedback for the last few chapters. Rather than Team Edward vs. Team Jacob, this fic seems to have developed a Team Bella vs. Team Masen division, with a handful of you hangin' out in Switzerland. LOL I love it._

* * *

He wasn't all-knowing. He wasn't infallible. Bella was undergoing a paradigm shift of tectonic proportions. One plate dove under and disintegrated, while the other splintered and reared up into jagged peaks. The faultline buckled and snapped, shaking her insides in a seismic convulsion that left her quaking and gripping the edges of her seat for balance.

Two and half weeks in, and she still hadn't faced the actual risks of her position. She thought that she had, but until now she hadn't fully assimilated what it would be like to sit helplessly in the clutches of pure evil. She had considered it academically. Experienced the repulsive touch of Malcolm Delancy for a brief moment. But this new fear sank deep, deep into the marrow of her bones. Deep into that dark place within the psyche from which nightmares are born.

To make it worse, she knew now that she wouldn't be able to depend on Masen to protect her. Oh, he would do his best. His formidable best. But he was only one man. He was just a man. Her safety, her sanity, were going to be dangling on the thread of the Volturi head's dedication to hospitality, the professional respect he accorded to a fellow criminal. From where she sat, it looked like a very thin thread.

Bella adjusted the vents to blast cool air on her face, closed her eyes and waited for the tears to dry. The air conditioner did the trick, but her skin felt dry and brittle. Her face was numb.

Several minutes later, she jumped when Masen tapped on the driver's side window. He opened the door carefully and climbed in. His movements were stiff. Slow. Cautious. Bella caught her lower lip between her teeth and waited.

When he spoke, his voice was flint and gravel, full of rough-edged regret. "I know that it's completely inadequate, but I want you to know I'm sorry. For everything that happened this morning. And for just now. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay."

"No. It's not. None of this is okay."

Masen flattened his hands across the center of the steering wheel and stared at them. Bella saw how red and swollen his right hand was, the knuckles skinned and bleeding. There were dents and cracks in the dashboard where he had struck it. She clamped her lips together to stop herself from saying anything.

"This is new to me," Masen continued pensively. "This complete immersion in another operative's thoughts and feelings. It requires communication skills that are completely foreign to me. I've never worked with a partner before. Unless you count Peter, and we all know how that ended."

"I really don't. . ." Bella reminded him.

"What I mean is, I'm not used to leaning on another agent. Not like this. I'm not just accountable for you. I'm accountable _to_ you. On top of that, I. . . I feel very protective of you. Taking you into that place goes against every instinct inside of me. Putting you at their mercy. . . it's abhorrent. Today I realized that I have to trust you to be strong enough to withstand everything we will see and experience in there. It's the only way." He turned to look at her. "I do trust you. You're a remarkable woman."

Bella blushed self-consciously. It was the most direct praise he had ever given her. "I trust you, too. I know that you will do everything in your power to-"

"I wasn't finished."

"Oh. Sorry. . ."

"Don't be. It's alright. I. . ." Masen rubbed his mouth as he searched for the right words, his fingers rasping over his cheeks and jaw. "Ms. Swan, I need you to promise me something."

"Anything," Bella said fervently, looking him full in the face.

Masen removed his glasses, looked down and massaged the bridge of his nose where they had left twin pink impressions. He exhaled in a rush and looked up again, his eyes sparking with an intensity that left her breathless.

"If anything happens to me, anything at all, I want you to get out. Don't stop. Don't look back. I don't care who or what you have to break, maim or kill. You are more help to those kids alive and free than trapped in that hellhole with them. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she agreed, trembling.

"Promise me."

"I swear. If anything happens to you, I'll find a way out. No matter what it takes."

His eyes searched hers, darting back and forth rapidly between them. Finally, he nodded, apparently satisfied with what he saw.

"We'll check out of the hotel in the morning," Masen said decisively.

He replaced his glasses, put the car in gear and pulled out of the mall parking lot. They navigated through the city streets, taking a wandering route to the north until they came across a park with a public restroom she could use. Neither of them had picked up signs of a tail, but Bella felt vulnerable out in the open. It was a relief to get back in the car again, safe behind tinted glass.

"It's our last day. Wanna eat out?" Masen asked as she buckled her seatbelt. His serious tone had evaporated. He was smiling again, and his shoulders were relaxed.

"If our rooms are bugged, I think I would prefer that," she replied hesitantly, trying to shake her own melancholy mood.

"Great. Let's find some Mexican food. I feel like an enchilada."

"That's funny. You don't look like one," Bella joked, intentionally stepping back into their signature light-hearted banter. It felt forced, but time was short. She didn't want to miss out on their last hours together as friends.

"Well, aren't you original. Like I've never heard that one before," Masen groaned.

"At your age? I'm not surprised. I'm sure it's been around the block quite a few times."

"That's right, rookie. And I'll make sure to order your food with extra green chiles and a large bowl of salsa verde on the side."

"You may want to ask if they can cut your food up real small. Make it easier to chew," Bella shot back.

"There is nothing wrong with my teeth," Masen laughed, snapping his teeth at her.

"Be careful. Remember what happened to the big bad wolf."

"I'll make sure to steer clear of grandmas and deep water. Ahh, yes! This place looks promising," he grinned, pulling into a tiny parking lot beside a rundown, yellow stucco building.

"Promising? It looks like a dump!"

"Exactly. So you _know _the food will be awesome."

"Your logic defies reason."

"My logic is sound. What do you want? Tacos, burrito, chile relleno. . ."

"How about a chile relleno and an enchilada. Chicken. No ground meat. I want to know what I'm eating."

"Oh, ye of little faith. Hang tight, kid. I'll be right back." He rolled down the windows, tossed her the keys and shut the door.

"Kid?" Bella muttered. "That doesn't sound like trust or confidence to me." But she couldn't help the wistful smile that crept across her face.

They ate their lunch parked in a tiny lot behind a three-story walk-up. Bella scrutinized the first few bites carefully, but Masen's prediction turned out to be accurate. The food was delicious. Authentic, spicy, and full of fresh flavors.

"What next?" Bella asked between bites.

"I'm going to pester Delancy about my offer. The seller hasn't accepted or countered yet. Then we have to pack up. Gotta cancel our dinner plans for tomorrow, too, but I was going to do that anyway."

"Your offer of private entertainment was a bluff?"

"Of course. Even if I did know a couple of hookers in the area, I would never subject them to that kind of filth."

"Wait a minute, you would actually hire a prostitute?"

"Not for me, no," he shrugged. He paused, taking in her shocked expression. "Oh, I see. You're one of those women who thinks that prostitution is victimizing women no matter what, aren't you?"

"Excuse me? _Those _women? Isn't that what we're fighting? The sex trade is all about turning people into victims," Bella protested hotly.

"I won't deny that the industry is rife with crime and corruption, but not every prostitute is there against his or her will. Some are savvy entrepreneurs. Supply and demand. It's the oldest profession, because the demand _never _goes away. It doesn't matter how bad the economy gets, men will always find money for sex and booze, if that's where their interests lie. You want job security? It's not a bad way to go."

"You're just saying this to shock me, aren't you. You think this is funny."

"You're funny. Yes. You get all scowly and indignant when you're angry. It's kind of hilarious."

Bella narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms, her half-finished food forgotten in her lap.

"Okay, fine. Let's back up. I don't support prostitution as a general rule. I think that far too many women and girls fall into it because they don't see any other way to support themselves. Even worse, thousands of people are forced into it against their will, either because of chemical addiction, or by individuals like the Volturi's clientele who just see a girl's body as a commodity to exploit. But I'm not about to step in and tell a smart, educated, grounded woman who knows her own mind, has goals, and understands the risks and rewards, that she can't build a business on what she does best. See? I'm a feminist, too," he concluded with a smirk.

"You actually know somebody like that," Bella said, disbelieving.

"Yep. One of my closest friends in D.C. is an escort."

"You have friends?"

"Ouch," Masen said with a bemused smile.

"No! That's not what I meant. That totally came out wrong."

"Actually, I think it came out exactly right. You think I'm closed off and isolated. You're not incorrect. Look, Miss Swan, I know we've been thrown together for this mission. I know we've only been at this for a few weeks. Not even. The truth is, we hardly know each other at all. I've lived a hundred lives, and you're barely starting out. But in all the ways that count, I know we are the perfect team. To be perfectly honest, I'm a little jealous of you. Your compassion, empathy and idealism are invaluable. Everything we discussed on the first day, all the ways your position as Marie can open doors and reveal hidden elements the Volturi's operations, all the things you will learn from the other victims that couldn't possibly discover, those details are going to be the backbone of our case."

"You're not just blowing smoke to make me feel better?"

"When have I ever?"

"Point taken." Bella picked at her food before continuing. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn. Now she felt more distant from her partner than she had since their first week together. She didn't like it. "And you're actually friends with a prostitute."

"Still stuck on that, huh? She prefers the term escort. Kate's an excellent asset. You wouldn't believe the things she sees and hears. When we get done with this, I'll introduce you."

"Cool," Bella mumbled. For some reason, she didn't feel any enthusiasm about the proposed introduction. Asset or not, the idea of willingly trading sex for anything other than honest affection was off putting. Wasn't it still feeding the system that enabled organizations like the Volturi to operate?

"While we're on the subject of free will, I think-"

"Is that what we were talking about?" Bella asked, giving him a quizzical look.

"Sure. Among other things. I need to show you how to work that collar."

Bella flinched back from his hands, holding her plastic fork like a weapon. "If you shock me while I'm eating. . ." she threatened.

"Chill out. Here," he took her food and set it on the dashboard. He had already finished his meal. "Give me your hands. You need to be able to take this thing off if the shit hits the fan."

Bella reluctantly allowed him to guide her hands back to the clasp of her choker.

"Feel this?" Masen asked, running her right pointer finger over a round metal protrusion.

"Yeah."

"You're going to push down on this and, at the same time, squeeze these bumps above and below the second link. No, that's the third. This one."

Bella fumbled a bit at first. The metal was damp with her sweat and it was hard to visualize what she was feeling. Every link felt identical. When the clasp popped open on her third try, she gasped in relief. The necklace slipped heavily into Masen's waiting hand, and he watched her rubbing her neck with a half smile on his lips.

"Feels good?"

"So good," Bella said, cupping her hands around her neck, revelling in the smooth feeling of skin on skin. "God, I hate that thing."

"Yeah. Me, too."

He handed her the necklace and gestured for her to put it back on. Bella gritted her teeth and wrapped it back around her neck. It was almost as hard to put on as it was to take off. The tiny buttons barely moved, so it was difficult to tell when she had the correct spots. They were cleverly hidden amid the other ornamental details.

"See? Once it's off, only somebody who knows how it works can put it back on. Try again. Until it's automatic."

Bella followed his instructions, taking it off and putting it back on several times.

"Nice. Now, let's see. . . It's a little after 1 o'clock. I'm going to give Delancy a call then check in with Mahardy to let him know what we've got going on."

Bella nodded, reclaimed her lunch and ate quietly as he turned on his impatient, domineering alter ego to speak with the realtor.

Masen popped his neck and yawned loudly once he hung up a few minutes later. "God, that man is such a tool."

"That's one way of putting it."

"Let's see if Mahardy's around. I'm gonna put the phone on speaker. Feel free to jump in at any time."

The first time he called, it went straight through to voicemail. Masen hung up and dialed again.

"Mahardy here."

"Hey, Rick. Got a minute?"

"Anything that gives me an excuse to stand outside. I took the afternoon off because the wife is always complaining that I work too much. Well, here I am, and she's sitting on the sofa watching soap operas. Apparently I'm supposed to schedule my time off around her TV programming. I never got that memo."

"Still happily married, I see."

"Yeah. Right. The honeymoon never started with this one. . . So, what's your status?"

"We're in. Things are moving along even faster than we had hoped. The Volturi sent a messenger directly to our rooms with an invitation to stay in their compound. Well, they call it a villa, but it's probably got barbed wire and landmines. I'll send you a full report before close of business, but I wanted to give you a heads up that updates may be sporadic for the next little while."

"Wow. That is good news. I'm impressed. How's Agent Swan handling it all?"

"Hanging in there, sir," Bella responded.

"Oh. Didn't realize I was on speaker phone."

"Don't worry, Rick. She's not gonna tattle on you to the wife."

"Don't be a dick, Masen. Give me the play by play in an email. I'll need to read in the local SAC as soon as possible. I don't feel right about you having no back up."

"Rick, we talked about this. You know what Agent Filipovna thinks about it. I would feel safer if it was just the four of us for now. At least until we've got a better idea of how wide and deep this river runs. It looks bad enough on the surface. Who knows what's lurking underneath."

"I hate it. I really hate it. But I'm going to trust you on this one. For now. Next time you get a chance to call me, we'll revisit this and see if we shouldn't call on some additional resources."

"Thanks, Rick. That'll help me sleep a lot easier at night."

"Anything else?"

"Naw. That's it for now. I don't want to keep you from your soaps."

Mahardy groaned, "I'm never taking time off again. Okay, you two. Good luck."

"Thank you, sir," Bella said.

"Thanks, man," Agent Masen added, then hung up. "You feeling okay?"

"Surprisingly enough, yeah," Bella replied. "Talking to Special Agent Mahardy put a lot of things back in perspective for me."

"I'm glad. Ready to head back?"

"We're not going to be able to talk or anything, are we?"

"Not for real, no. And now that we know Demetri has access to a housekeeping key, it's probably best if we keep the cover story rolling through the night. Think of it as a dress rehearsal."

"On a stage with unmarked trap doors," Bella added, looking out the window as they passed yet another golf course.

"You won't fall. I won't let you."

* * *

_A/N: Would you feel safer with a small, hand-picked team or an army? I sometimes wonder if Agent Masen's inability to trust others is a boon or a liability. I guess we'll see._


	39. Chapter 39

**I recently had the pleasure of Beta'ing Ninkita's entries for the Meet The Mate Contest. Her one shot, "Hot Dude, Reading" won 4th place in the popular vote. . . out of 79 entries! Her other entry "A Long Ago Library Love Story" is a sweet, multi-generational tale which she plans to continue.  
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**Take a few minutes to hop on over to her page and leave her some love. She's been a huge part of this story and many others I've written/am writing. Plus, she's got an incredible amount of talent! You don't even have to waste time searching for her profile, she's in my favorites list. :)**

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Bella had been starting to crave the sanctuary of the hotel room after every outing. Now she dreaded it. Fortunately, her nervous tension and discomfort gelled perfectly with her cover. She couldn't speak, hum, laugh or watch television. She had to be the captive. She had to be Marie. Masen turned on some music as soon as they entered the suite. It was dark and heavy, providing a sinister ambience as a backdrop for the Volturi's audio surveillance. She sat on the floor with her back against the wall and her knees drawn up to her chest while Masen paced back and forth across the living room, talking on his phone.

At least some of the calls were real, she knew that. Edward Cullen was conducting business. The first call he made was to Malcolm Delancy, badgering the realtor for updates on their purchase negotiation. The listing agent had promised that a counter was in the works, but he claimed that they needed an extension because the sellers were not on speaking terms. The divorce attorneys were doing all the talking. Throughout the call, Masen's voice was brimming with impatience and anger, but when he got off the phone, he shot Bella a triumphant smile. A long, drawn out negotiation was exactly what they wanted. The longer his living arrangements were in limbo, the longer he could lean on the Volturi's hospitality without attracting suspicion.

Masen placed another call, ordering that his shipment of personal items be held in storage for at least another 30 to 45 days. Somewhere in an overland freight facility, he had boxes of clothes, household goods and other personal effects just waiting for move-in day. Until then, he was living out of suitcases. If the Volturi managed to find where they were stored and break in, all of his possessions would be consistent with Edward Cullen's rigid, but luxurious lifestyle. Details. So many details.

Bella closed her eyes and tried to imagine what the Volturi watchdogs would think based on everything they were hearing right then. Hopefully they would be as bored as she was. Boredom leads to complacency and errors. Nothing neutralizes an adversary as effectively as mind-erasing, sense-numbing boredom.

Time marched on. She shifted her weight to ease the tingling cramps in her butt and thighs. First, two hours of kneeling against the bed. Then, hours in the car talking, driving around, getting lunch and their long conversation afterwards. Now she sat, leaning up against the wall of their hotel suite for an interminable amount of time. She had been inactive for hours. Being quiet and still was harder than she had realized.

Masen noticed her squirming and put his phone on mute. "If you need to use the bathroom, go. I don't want to find a puddle of piss on the carpet. Jesus Christ, you're an imbecile. And eat something." His accompanying offhanded shrug and crooked smile went a long way towards softening the harsh words.

"Yes, sir," she said. "Thank you, sir." She wasn't really hungry yet, but she was grateful for the excuse to move around.

"No, you listen to me," Edward Cullen's voice rang through the closed bathroom door as she washed her hands. "You will do everything that I say, exactly as I tell you, or every tabloid will receive copies of those pictures before the end of the day. What will your constituents think of their family man hero then? If you cross me, you can kiss your picture-perfect life with your sweet wife and trio of Goldilocks clones goodbye. I want that paragraph struck from the bill before it goes up for review. Make it happen."

Edward Cullen's bank accounts showed hefty consulting fees dating back several months from a shell company based in Colorado. The transactions were split apart and shuffled around between his many accounts and business entities, mixed in with normal expenditures and dozens of other deposits. It would take a forensic accountant to pick it apart. Masen and Bella were laying money on the belief that the Volturi had the resources and expertise to do just that.

In actuality, their operation had zero connections to any politicians. The phone call was a one-sided sham. However, anyone who followed national news was aware that Senator Devlin Beach was a beloved politician from Boulder, Colorado. A man who had graduated magna cum laude from his hometown college, married his high school sweetheart and gone on to father three adorable kids with blue eyes and blond curls, he was the all-American, doting patriarch. He was also a vocal critic of fracking and was actively pushing legislation to limit operations within his state. Bernard Morahan, his challenger in the upcoming elections, was brutal, cutthroat and known to be in bed with several high-profile energy investors.

A simpleton could connect the dots. Edward Cullen had been hired by somebody in the natural gas business, if not Morahan himself, to steamroll one of their most dangerous opponents - Devlin Beach - into softening the terms of the bill he was writing. Somebody as outspoken as Beach could never drop his fight completely. That would raise red flags from coast to coast. But he could be castrated, his bill made impotent by deleting the harshest restrictions and introducing loopholes big enough for an elephant to march through. In the end, even if the doctored bill was passed, it would only be a temporary inconvenience, a speed bump.

This tactic was all about finesse. It would be impossible to prove or disprove their involvement in Senator Devlin's anti-fracking campaign or the associated bill. There were too many moving pieces. Too many layers. That made it the perfect addition to their con. While on the road, Bella and Masen had spent many long hours researching current events, fabricating that script and others like it.

At one point she had asked Masen, "Do you think this kind of thing really goes on? The backdoor deals, blackmail, all this garbage undercutting real progress?"

"Hell yes, it does. Why do you think our legal system and the political landscape are such a convoluted mess?"

"So this is going to seem completely normal to the Volturi."

"You got it. Edward Cullen is just their kind of crook."

Smoke and mirrors. That's what they were using. Edward Cullen had to appear to be busy and successful. His money had to come from somewhere. That's what Masen's cover was built on. Smoke, mirrors and innuendo.

The Devlin Beach script and associated income were just one of nearly a dozen irons that Edward Cullen had cooking in the fire. The beauty of it was, their scripts were lean on names and specifics, but heavy on the bullying tone and condescension, giving the impression of more complex business dealings with fewer potential pitfalls. Just like Bella's work to build Bree Tanner's life and history into her cover story, they had opted for subtleties and illusion over bold-faced claims with Edward Cullen.

If the Volturi were listening, and she had no reason to believe otherwise, they would be digging for a while to uncover Mr. Cullen's careful trail of backroom deals and dirty cover-ups. Masen wasn't giving them much to work with. However, if the Volturi were as good as Tanya and Masen believed they were, they would find the trail and follow it to the only logical conclusion. Edward Cullen was a belligerent, vicious manipulator. And he was filthy rich. He was exactly their kind of client. Maybe even somebody worthy of a position of trust within their organization.

Bella walked softly past him as he placed another mock call. It was getting late. She ate standing in the kitchen, then put together a plate of food and set it at Masen's elbow. He had turned the music up when he set his phone down, and a Rachmaninov piano concerto swelled through the room. He was back at his laptop, typing furiously. A quick glance showed her that he was sending SAC Mahardy and Agent Filipovna detailed notes of everyone he had spoken to or met with. Several names jumped out at her, names from Tanya's database. What she had witnessed and overheard these last four days only comprised a fraction of Masen's activities since their arrival.

"Stop hovering. I don't want you right now. Go to bed," he said impatiently.

"Yes, sir," Bella replied automatically, wondering if she could even sleep.

His left hand left the keyboard long enough to grasp hers and give it a squeeze.

She brushed her teeth and got ready for bed, then curled up on the floor, mindful that even the squeak of bedsprings could be picked up by the bugs in the bedroom. They had to limit all audio cues to sounds consistent with the scene Demetri had found that morning.

With her eyes closed, Bella ticked off every step they had completed, every gate they had passed through to get to this point. Everything was set. They were ready. As ready as they could ever be. Despite her anxiety, Bella fell asleep long before Masen turned out the lights and climbed into bed.

When Bella woke up, Masen was already in the shower. There was a handwritten note on the floor beside her pillow. She recognized Masen's slanted script immediately.

Checking out at 9:30. Expect a miniature explosion before we depart.

Bella waited for her turn in the bathroom, then took her time creating her look for the day. Edward Cullen would want her at her best, polished and primped to make him look good. This was his only chance to make a powerful entrance on the Volturi's stage.

Bella grimaced when she felt how bad her leg hair was getting. She would trade a lot for a simple disposable razor. Then again, that had been one of many details in Masen's plan. He needed the Volturi connection for everything from legal papers to grooming for his sex slave. He couldn't very well take her to the DMV or a local salon.

Bella sifted through Marie's lingerie and jewelry to find the most glitzy, provocative ensemble possible. She was starting to appreciate Masen's decision to take such a monochromatic approach to her wardrobe. Everything matched everything else. It made her job that much easier.

Soon after 9:00, Bella was ready to go. Her hair was gathered into a pile of loose curls and held in place with rhinestone clips. She had made her face up as if she were going to a club, with dark, sooty eye shadow, black mascara and plum-colored lipstick. She wore low-rise black leggings, peep-toe pumps and a belt of hand-stamped sterling silver medallions around her hips. Her shirt was made of thousands of strands of navy blue silk, gathered at the seams to form swooping drapes. Every time she moved, they shifted and swayed, revealing tiny glimpses of the skin beneath.

Masen spared her a quick nod of approval as he tidied the desk. All of their other luggage was packed and waiting by the door. Bella sat down near the entryway and watched him work. He had his briefcase open and was carefully putting his notes and documents away when he paused.

"That slimy little prick. I should have known," he growled. Bella looked on as Masen removed a small metal device and wire from the desk lamp. "Listen up, asshole," he spoke into the device, his voice glacier-cold and sharp. "Tell your boss that I'm seriously reconsidering his invitation. I'm choosing not to be offended, but with me you only get one strike. You've got thirty minutes, I repeat, thirty minutes, to make sure my room is clean. If I find even a trace of a bug or wire, I'm marching out of there, and we will never work together. Not in this lifetime. Not in the next. Cross me, and it will cost you. Nobody tries to collect dirt on me and gets away with it. Oh, one more thing, tell that little fucker you sent over here yesterday morning that he hits like a girl. Find some real muscle if you really want to threaten me. Thirty minutes. I'm on my way."

Masen picked up the nearest heavy object, a crystal paperweight, and slammed it down onto the bug with a crash. He pocketed the mutilated device and threw the remaining items into his briefcase, shutting it with a loud snap. He was muttering under his breath as he dialed the front desk on the room's telephone.

"Where is that bellhop?" he demanded. "Then send someone else. Now."

Masen opened the door and stood in the hallway with his hands on his hips, waiting impatiently. Bella got to her feet, picked up her purse and the jewelry case and joined him, standing just out of arm's reach. An unfamiliar, uniformed bellhop burst out of the elevator down the hall a few minutes later. Bella wondered briefly if he was another Volturi plant. She hadn't seen his face any of the times they had passed through the lobby, but it was a large hotel and they had only been there for a few days.

"So sorry, Mr. Cullen. Allow me," the man apologized, loading their luggage efficiently and following them back to the elevator.

The black BMW was clean and ready for them at the entrance, the engine rumbling at idle. One of the hotel managers was waiting outside to see them off, thanking them for their business. Masen accepted the man's gratitude stiffly, showing as much civility as Bella had ever seen while he was in character. She slid into her seat and waited with her head down and her hands folded in her lap. When Masen angled into the driver's seat, he took off his glasses, rubbed his right temple and put them back on. He wasn't taking any chances. Bella bit her tongue and waited, hoping he would pull over somewhere so they could talk out of range of prying ears. She didn't have any real questions, per se, but she had been counting on having one final moment to share with her partner before entering the snake pit.

She didn't get that chance. Their destination was closer than she had expected. Frighteningly close. They traveled less than half a mile up the North County Road before pulling into a wide paved driveway. They passed under an arch of iron and stone, and Bella was stunned by the thickness of the walls. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw metal glinting atop the rough-hewn limestone barrier. Razor wire? Electrified coils? This wasn't just a beachfront mansion, it was a military-grade stronghold.

The gate swung shut, closing silently, but securely, behind foliage grew right up against the driveway, a stunning, but impenetrable visual barrier. There was no way to determine how large the property was, or what else was out there, except from the air. The drive took a sweeping curve, and the main house came into view. Framed by towering palms, with terraces, balconies and imposing walls constructed from blocks of imported stone, the building reminded her of a Mediterranean castle. One of the dark-stained front doors stood open, giving them a glimpse of the grandeur within.

At the top of the circular driveway, Masen parked the car and opened his door. A tall but slender man with black slicked-back hair rapidly descended the stairs to meet them. He wore Italian-cut, gray plaid pants that clung to his thighs. His bright pink shirt sported a wide collar, unbuttoned at the neck, with the sleeves rolled up above his wrists. He wrung his hands gleefully as they climbed out of the car.

"Welcome, welcome, dearest guests. Consider me your concierge, your maitre d', your very best friend. And who are you?" he asked with a seductive purr, looking Agent Masen up and down.

"Cullen. Edward Cullen." Masen held out his hand in greeting, as formal as if he were introducing himself to a head of state.

"Ooooh. Bond. . . James Bond," the man intoned in a deep voice, holding out his hand. He squeaked when Masen grasped his fingers. Bella could hear his knuckles popping from several feet away. "Mmm. Ow! Ahahahaha. Edward. I like it. My name is Aro. Oh. You are strong," the younger man drawled appreciatively, his eyes tracing up Masen's wrist and arm. "And is this adorable thing yours?" Aro asked, turning to look at Bella, his eyes gleaming.

"For now. I'm looking to upgrade. Maybe. If you have a girl that suits me."

"We have girls to suit anyone's taste. It's a point of pride. Although. . . I have a feeling you might be a tough man to please. A real connoisseur." He tapped his lower lip speculatively with one perfectly-manicured finger. "But that's okay. We love a challenge," Aro concluded, rubbing his hands together excitedly.

As detestable as his words were, Bella couldn't help being drawn to the flamboyantly dressed concierge. He had a natural charisma and charm about him. She could see why he had been hired. His cheerful, but subservient persona would put almost any visitor at ease.

"Well, don't just stand there. Come in, come in! Mr. Volturi will be so happy you came. We are expecting quite a fun gathering tonight! You came at just the right time. Allow me to show you to your room."

"Will Mr. Volturi be joining us for dinner tonight?" Masen asked as they climbed the steps. Two young men in tan suits unloaded their suitcases from the car and fell into step behind them.

"Oh, I never know what he plans to do or not do. I guess we'll see!"

"A minute, Aro," Masen called out, halting just outside the magnificent front doors. "I have one little matter to discuss with your boss before we settle in." He held his hand out, palm up, displaying the crushed remains of the bug. "I'm a private sort of man. I will inspect my room. When I do, will it be clean? Because neither my host nor I will be happy if it isn't."

Aro's eyebrows jumped, and his lips formed a silent 'O'. "That would be unpardonable. Your room is spic and span, from rafters to sub floor. You have my word."

"Hmm. That seems to be a common phrase around here."

"Oh, Mr. Cullen. Do come in. Your accommodations will exceed your expectations. Have no fear."

"In that case, lead on," Masen said. He grasped Bella by the upper arm, dragging her forward into the house.

* * *

_A/N: And they're in._

_By the way, there's a whole crew of incredible ladies that greet each new chapter with some pretty entertaining commentary over on Facebook. They keep me on my toes. Care to join us? I'm Maggie Chambers. You'll sometimes find me lurking in Frannie Walsh's "Pay it Forward" group or the "Fan Fiction Discussion for WIPS" group._


	40. Chapter 40

_**The voting poll is live for the Twilight Tricks AND Treats Halloween one-shot contest! Voting is open through the 17th. There are only 14 entries, but you'll still find plenty of chills, romance, witches, pumpkins, laughs and Halloween scares. Check it out!**_

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Edward Cullen seemed to be immune to the fierce beauty of the Volturi mansion and kept his eyes fixed on their guide's back, but Marie couldn't keep her eyes still. Under cover of her character's terrified glances, Bella took stock of their surroundings. They passed through a grand, three-story entryway and turned down a long hall. Light filtered down from the hand-carved ceiling where fiber optic filaments glowed from the eyes of writhing demons and winged furies. Bright spots speckled the odd spaces between like stars. The light was a natural color, perhaps funneled down cables from mirrors on the rooftop. There were no electric fixtures in evidence. Bella wondered, if it was captured sunlight, how they were supposed to navigate the corridors at night?

The interior stone walls matched the exterior, showing chisel marks and rough edges with a thin layer of mortar between each block. The oppressive weight of the structure loomed over them. As forbidding as the walls and ceilings looked, the flooring was a surprise. Their feet sank sponge-like and silent into an ornate woven runner. All Bella heard was the brush of shoes on wool and her own strained breathing.

Each door they passed was set into a recess, built from massive planks of heart oak which hung from thick brass hinges. The ambiance was that of a medieval fortress. Impenetrable. Unassailable. A person locked inside one of those rooms could rot her life away, unseen, unheard.

She kept her eyes moving constantly, identifying two, no three, cameras mounted in doorways as they strode past. There would be no respite from their act. Not unless Masen found a location he deemed safe. Aro stopped at a door which looked like every other. He produced a key from his pocket and handed it to his guest with a flourish.

"Your room, sir. I do so hope our accommodations meet your standards."

Mr. Cullen let go of Marie's arm and inserted the old-fashioned brass key into the lock. It turned with a heavy, rasping sound. The tumblers within the mechanism were specially designed to resist delicate lock-picking tools. Despite its bulk, the door swung open silently. Aro grinned down at the slave girl, shooing her into the room behind her master.

Her hesitation was unfeigned. She stopped just over the threshold, her head swiveling rapidly to take it all in. It was a massive room, flooded with light from three floor-to-ceiling leaded windows. Heavy, red velvet curtains were tied back with braided cords. The sunlight illuminated a four-poster bed pushed up against the wall on the left, dressed in gold linens with a black and gold brocade canopy. The furniture was stained black and red, as if the wood had been soaked in blood then lacquered to trap the ruby glow.

There were beautiful rugs on the floor and padded sofas around an advanced entertainment system. The walls were hung with artwork of the sort you would expect in a gallery of classic treasures. Bella's eyes were drawn to the closest painting, which depicted a pale-skinned maiden bathing in a shallow stream. At first glance, it was delicate and beautiful. However, she soon saw the three demonic creatures that lurked in the shadows, horned and muscular, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting girl.

Aro's hands came to rest on her shoulders. "My darling girl, isn't it marvelous?" She nodded obediently. His thumbs rubbed her trapezius muscles vigorously. "Oh, you are going to love it here." Bella shivered violently, but it wasn't an act.

Edward Cullen's voice rang out from the en suite, "I'm impressed. Italian porcelain tile, even behind the john. Mr. Volturi is a man with refined tastes. I would guess he demands perfection in all things."

"Oh, yes. So true! He's a hard man to please, and an exacting boss, but he rewards those who are loyal and dedicated to him."

"How long have you worked for the man? You seem quite happy with your position."

"Oh, ha ha ha. You're looking for a new recruit for your latest enterprise? Doing a bit of head-hunting? I am flattered. Truly. But I'm not one to bite the hand that feeds me. And Mr. Volturi does feed us very, very well." Aro pushed out his flat tummy and rubbed it delicately with the pads of his fingers.

"Uh huh," Mr. Cullen responded drily, exiting the bathroom and taking a slow and careful circuit around the room. He ran his fingers along the wainscotting, peered into wall-mounted sconces, and scrutinized every frame of the oil paintings that lined the walls. Every ten feet or so, a thick brass ring hung at waist height. He tugged on one, but it didn't budge.

"Anchored six inches into the stone," Aro supplied proudly.

"Nice," Mr. Cullen said, appreciatively.

Bella didn't want to know what the rings were for, but her imagination was supplying some very graphic scenarios.

Mr. Cullen finally came to a stop in front of the entertainment center. The black screen of the television was the most visible reminder that this was a modern retreat, not the old-world citadel that it appeared to be. What other technology was secreted in the room? Judging by her owner's meticulous examination of every surface, he was asking himself the same question.

"Soooo, Mr. Cullen, can we officially add your name to the seating chart for tonight's fête?"

"I think I would like that," he replied with a slow smile.

"Wonderful!" Aro crowed, clapping his hands. "Okay boys, come on in," he called. The two beige-clad employees came into the room and deposited the luggage between a massive wardrobe and matching tallboy. "Shall I have one of our girls help you unpack and get settled in?"

"Marie can do that. Oh, that reminds me. This is a touch embarrassing, but I haven't really had the time to do any research. I had a girl up in Seattle, dumb as a brick and didn't speak an ounce of English, but she knew her job. She kept Marie presentable for me. Who can I trust around here? My girl's starting to look pretty shabby."

Bella curled her hands to hide her chipped nail polish and ragged cuticles. Yeah, Masen didn't miss anything.

"Oh, dear me," Aro exclaimed, grabbing one of her hands and pulling it close to his face. "Tsk tsk. Well! This is well within my power to resolve. Come along, young lady. Oh, you, too, Mr. Cullen! If you're to be our guest, you should know about all the resources at your disposal, even the humble ones. Go on, boys. You're done here," he waved on the two nondescript helpers.

Bella watched her partner lock the door to their lavish room, and they set off further down the hall. Aro led them through a wide atrium. Sunlight rained down on them through the glass dome overhead, burning Bella's eyes after the dim light of the hallway. The atrium was humid, and the sound of trickling water filled the air. An indoor stream ran over artfully laid pebbles, the waterway lined with lush, tropical plants. There were several sitting areas, the furniture a combination of woven wicker and gold-toned wood, shaded beneath sweeping lengths of white linen.

Bella saw two girls on the far side of the courtyard talking to a dark-skinned man. Bella took note of their scant clothing. They had far more skin showing than she did. Standing just inside another corridor was a figure in a dark suit, his face hidden in shadows. His height and breadth made the doorway look small by comparison. She couldn't see his eyes, but she could feel him watching the small party as it crossed to another hallway.

Aro led them to a large room with its own enclosed patio. There were several girls sitting and lying around. Some were reading, some were watching a movie. One girl was curled up asleep on a paisley sofa. The scene would have been completely mundane if it weren't so twisted and perverse. The girls, teens and young adults, were reading children's picture books, the show on the large flat screen television was showing a graphic bondage scene which looked far too realistic to be mainstream porn, and the unconscious girl on the couch was dressed in nothing but a lace demi-bra and a pair of black leather boy shorts. She twitched and shook in her sleep, her dreams far from restful. Without exception, everyone wore a silver choker similar to her own. Bella swallowed hard.

"This is the girls' dayroom," Aro exclaimed, one arm swept wide. "As you can see, our girls enjoy one another's company and some non-strenuous pastimes when they aren't needed. Even our guests are comfortable leaving their pets here. It's completely secure, with at least one guard on duty at all times." He gestured to the sullen looking man by the entryway. Turning his head to the far corner of the room, he called out in a sing-song voice, "Zafrina darling, we have a very special guest here. Come and introduce yourself!"

Bella caught her breath when a statuesque woman unfolded herself from one of the window seats and approached them. She was almost as tall as Masen, with burnt umber skin and midnight-black hair that hung in snake-like braids to her waist. Zafrina's eyes turned up on the outer corners giving her an exotic, cat-like appearance. The illusion was enhanced by her sloping forehead, defined cheekbones and narrow, pointed chin. Her perfect features were marred by signs of recent violence. Bella called on Marie's natural instincts and wilted visibly before the alpha female.

"Zafrina is one of our newest additions, a gift from a powerful ally in Porto Velho. She's had a tough time adjusting, but we think she's going to fit in beautifully, won't you my Amazonian princess?" Zafrina looked straight through him, her face rigid and proud. Aro giggled.

Looking at her and her split, swollen lower lip, Bella saw how extreme beauty could be a curse. An average woman never would have been singled out for capture the way this woman was. She wondered how it had happened. Was she overpowered? Tricked? Her bearing was too straight, her lean muscles too toned and primed for action, to have been born a captive. No, she was as much a warrior as Aro's mocking title implied. Perhaps she could be an ally.

"Zafrina has many special talents. One of them is tending to the hairdressing and dermatological needs of our little flock. She has been absolutely invaluable these last couple weeks." He cupped one hand close to his mouth and leaned in to add quietly, "Our last girl moved on unexpectedly."

"It happens," Mr. Cullen shrugged. "So, Zafrina, do you understand me?"

"Yehs, sir," she replied in slow, accented English.

"Excellent. I'll show you what I want done. Where do you work?"

"Dis way, sir."

"Go on, now, Marie. Go with Zafrina. Go on," Aro encouraged her with a gentle push and a smile.

"Oh, come on," her owner hissed when she hesitated. He grabbed her by the upper arm, tugging her along behind him.

Marie tripped on the edge of the carpet, and scrambled to keep her balance. Edward Cullen didn't even slow down. Off the dayroom was a luxurious bathing area with four alcoves, one of which appeared to be set up as a salon. There were several padded tables, an elaborate vanity and piles of cosmetics in trays and tubs.

"Well?" her master growled impatiently.

Hands shaking, Marie took of all of her clothes, folding them into a sloppy pile which she set on a small padded stool. Business-like, Zafrina patted one of the tables. Marie crawl-climbed onto the elevated surface and lay down, her arms hugged tight against her chest. She felt like a cadaver laid out for dissection. The Amazon ran her fingers up her left calf, grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm back and forth, then looked expectantly at Mr. Cullen.

"Smooth from here to here," he indicated the length of her body from neck to ankles. "But here, just make it neat. Natural. Not like those Brazilian models," he said, tapping the top of her pubic bone. Goosebumps raced across her skin, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Dis ee-zee. And her haanz? Her naylz?"

"This one," he said, passing Zafrina a bottle of pearlescent pink nail polish.

"Ee-zee. Two hours."

"I want her to look perfect. Take two hours. Hell, take three. Just make her look good."

Repulsed, Bella listened until his footsteps faded, then she opened her eyes. There was a sudden burst of heat below her left knee, and she yelped.

"Staaay," the tall woman said, pressing her leg firmly back on the table. Bella flinched when she felt Zafrina lay a strip of cloth down over the hot wax, then yank it off briskly. The Amazon moved very quickly. There was none of the soothing music or chattering conversation Bella had taken for granted at the spa in D.C. The other slave girl was doing a job under duress. There was no pleasure in it for her, or her charge.

Bella's eyes were smarting by the time Zafrina prodded her roughly on the hip. "Tern," she commanded. Bella rolled over.

When the waxing and trimming was over, Zafrina escorted her to the bathing area and prodded her into one of the showers. Bella washed away the sugary residue and gratefully accepted a plush pink towel from the other captive. She was patting her raw skin dry when Zafrina appeared beside her again. Bella squeaked and dropped the towel.

"Staay," Zafrina said again, then proceeded to rub a thick ointment all over Bella's body. It smelled of nut oils and a sharp-scented herb, but the penetrating odor faded quickly, taking the sting with it. "Dis tek away deh bern."

"Yes it did. Thank you," Bella said, giving the taller woman a shy smile.

The cat-like eyes narrowed to slits. Then Zafrina's face relaxed minutely, and she gave Bella a sad smile. "Is behter."

"Yes. Much better."

"Good. Now, yor naylz."

Wrapped in a towel, Bella sat on one of the padded stools while Zafrina soaked her hands and feet, removed the hideous red polish, then smoothed out her rough cuticles and nails. When the manicure was complete, Bella was relieved. The new polish was much easier to look at and wouldn't show wear as blatantly. The top coat was nearly dry by the time the sinister shadow of Edward Cullen fell across her lap.

"Well, stand up. Let's look at you," he commanded.

With her eyes on the floor, Bella stood up. She kept her fingers and toes splayed to avoid smudging the fresh polish.

"It'll have to do. When that's dry, come back out to the dayroom. I'll be waiting."

Bella nodded and sank back onto her stool. She watched as Zafrina collected and cleaned her tools and other materials. Moving carefully, Bella pulled her clothes back on. She was just about to leave when another woman entered the room.

"Oh good. You are here. I broke a nail. Be a doll and fix it for me?"

"Yehs, Veek-toh-ree-uh. Com seet."

The stunning redhead took one look at Bella and huffed. "Another one? My God, you're even wormier looking than the last one. You won't last a month!" Her eyes cut sharply up and down Bella's form before dismissing her completely.

There was something cold and hard about this Victoria. She sank into one of the more comfortable lounge chairs, closed her eyes and held out her hand for Zafrina to tend to. Bella took the opportunity to scrutinize her. Just like all the other girls, she wore a delicate silver necklace with a curling 'V' resting in the hollow of her throat. She was dressed in exquisite lingerie, pale peach and white lace that made her hair glow like embers. She could have been a model on a runway for all the humility she showed. It didn't add up. She was regal and condescending, even in this hell. Confused, Bella made her way back out to the main room.

She stopped in the doorway, suddenly overcome by a sickening rush of vertigo. Agent Masen - no, he was very much Edward Cullen right now - stood between Aro and another man. A nude female posed before them, undergoing a humiliating examination. Mr. Cullen pinched the skin on her hip, waist and her upper arm, turned her face from side to side, then pried her jaw open to look at her teeth as if she was a horse at a livestock auction.

Throughout the examination, there was a contemplative look on his face, but as she watched, his expression turned to one of distaste, and he shook his head. Bella forced herself to walk closer so she could hear their conversation.

"Kissing that would be like sucking on a sewer pipe. Don't you bother with dental care?"

"She's a recent acquisition. A couple extractions, maybe a filling or two, she could be yours within a week," the third man said. He was middle-aged and blond, soft around the middle and thinning on top. He had a tablet in one hand and a stylus in the other, scribbling down everything that Edward Cullen was saying.

"I'm not changing just for the sake of change. When I said I wanted an upgrade, I wasn't talking about buying somebody else's castoffs. Find me a girl who's really unique. When I take her out, people should look at her and immediately think, 'Yes. Of course. That's the kind of woman who belongs with Edward Cullen!' My next girl will be an asset. An investment in my new image campaign. She should catch your eye. Beautiful, proud, strong. There's no pleasure in breaking a blade of grass. She will fear me. She will worship me. There is no value in being worshipped by a mouse. Are you getting all this?"

"Yes, yes. Sounds like you want an ice princess."

"Ice princess? Nordic, German, something along those lines? Maybe. But she better speak English fluently. Who cares how intelligent you are if you sound like a simpleton?"

Aro was nodding thoughtfully through the whole exchange. Then he saw Marie, and his eyes lit up. "There she is! Although how you can't see the value in your little mouse, I don't know."

"I know how much she's worth. It's a red blotch on my ledger. If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to unpack and dress for dinner. Six o'clock?"

"I'll come and escort you myself," Aro said with a small bow. "It does take some time to-" He paused mid-sentence and held his hand up to his left ear. Speaking into his watch he said, "Yes, sir. I'll be right there." Turning back to Mr. Cullen and the blond man he gave them an apologetic shrug and a smile. "When he says jump. . . Michael, could you be a dear and show Mr. Cullen back to his room? He's in the Baroque suite."

"No problem. I'm heading back that way myself."

Bella trailed along behind the men as the traveled back through the atrium, now much cooler as the sun dipped below the angle of the roof. The dimly lit hallway back to their room seemed to go on forever. Feeling an icy chill creep down her spine, Bella glanced over her shoulder. She thought she saw a dark figure slip into a doorway. Or maybe it was only her imagination, dreaming up horned beasts and prowling demons in the shadows. It must have been, because why would the Volturi bother hiding?

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_*Phew* I'm stressed out, and I know what happens next! Sucks to be you guys stuck waiting for the next chapter. LOL Just kidding. I'll finish it as fast as I can. :) Thanks for all the awesome feedback last chapter! As for all your outlandish speculation about the true identity of the man behind the curtain. . . nah. I'm aint sayin' nuttin'! LOLOLOL_


	41. Chapter 41

_A/N: I won't be able to update again for a couple weeks. Lots of other projects need my attention. Soooo, here you go. I wrote much of this chapter back in February. I hope you. . . well, maybe 'like' and 'enjoy' are the wrong words. . . I hope you appreciate it._

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Bella changed into the clothes her partner set out for her; a pale blue, lace cocktail dress with a plunging neckline. She spritzed her hair with spray and used her large-barreled curling iron to set loose curls around her shoulders. As she reapplied her makeup, her hands shook, making it nearly impossible to keep her lip and eye makeup smooth. Were they being watched? Listened to? Masen hadn't given her any indication that it was safe to relax their performance.

Bella snuck glances at Masen as she worked. He was completely calm. Cool. Running through the motions of grooming and dressing himself as if he was going into the office, not a sociopath's brothel. His attitude gave her confidence. She didn't know what to expect at this dinner, but he probably did. She just needed to remember the plan. Be passive. Be invisible. Follow his commands without question. She scrunched her curls a couple of times, smoothed her dress over her hips and stood by the door, waiting for him.

Masen's phone rang as he was tying his silver bowtie. "Cullen." He held his phone against his shoulder, snapped his fingers at her and beckoned. Bella hurried over with a gait that screamed of conflicting instincts, 'run away' versus 'obey'. As it turned out, he just wanted to attach a leash to her collar. Bella gulped heavily and lifted her hair out of the way, the bare skin on her neck and arms breaking out in goosebumps. Masen was holding onto the leash, but otherwise ignoring her. He nodded in answer to something his caller said, "Got it. Raise it a hundred, no more. Make them work for every penny. . . Yeah. I'm getting ready now. Sorry you can't be here. . . I know. You're earning your commission alright. Next time." He hung up, pocketed his phone and the brass room key, along with the nasty little black fob that activated her collar.

He transformed from Masen to Cullen in a blink. It was chilling to look into her partner's eyes and see no trace of the man she knew and trusted. She felt as if she had stepped into a scene from a horror movie where a loved one is possessed by an evil spirit. His lips turned up into a grim smile. "Okay, little rabbit. Let's see what if these boys are all they're cracked up to be. But I'm warning you, embarrass me, and you'll be begging me to sell you before the night is done. Let's go."

Tottering on too-tall heels, she followed him to the door. When they stepped out into the hallway, Aro appeared, as if by magic.

"And punctual, too! My, my, Mr. Cullen. I'm starting to think you're the perfect man."

"Well, that makes two of us. Left or right?"

Aro doubled over, giggling, with his long-fingered hands braced against his knees. "Oh, my darling man, I think I love you. This way, this way!" The concierge set off down the hall, leading them back toward the main entrance. Occasionally he let out another soft laugh, but the sound was swallowed up almost instantly by the thick carpet.

Bella kept her arms at her side, occasionally taking a quick step to keep some slack in the short leash that ran from the back of her collar to her master's wrist. The light had become so dim that she couldn't even make out the pattern in the carpet. She looked back up at the ceiling and squealed in fright. The eyes of every gargoyle-like carving were starting to glow red.

"What's gotten into you?" Edward Cullen barked, tugging on the chain.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, realizing now that red light was being fed through the fiber optics to illuminate the hallway. The passage was bathed in a murky, pinkish glow.

"Don't hassle the poor thing. I think it's wonderful that she appreciates the artistic effect. I'll have to tell Master Dalmatia. He will be so flattered that you like it!"

Bella's skin was still crawling when they reached the grand entrance. She immediately recognized Zafrina on the other side of the room, towering above the other girls and most of the male guests. Her braids were piled into a beehive atop her head, and she wore a shimmering, gold halter top and mini skirt.

Looking around, Bella was overwhelmed by the number of people that continued to pour through the front door. There must have been fifty or sixty guests already. Afraid that she would give away too much, Bella kept her eyes on people's chests and below, determined to avoid all forms of eye contact. She went where her master steered her, following Aro's lithe form as he slipped through the crowd, occasionally stopping to greet someone or introduce them to Edward Cullen.

Waiters were making the rounds with trays of champagne flutes. Clusters formed around the Volturi's girls. There must have been almost twenty present. Slipping around the perimeter, set apart from the throng by their black suits and militant postures, the Volturi guards kept their eyes on the proceedings.

Mr. Cullen's arm was around her, broadcasting the fact that she was private property, as if her distinctive collar didn't already set her apart. He was chatting up a lawyer while two other men chimed in periodically. A few minutes later, William Gibbs joined them, clapping Edward familiarly on the shoulder. That earned him admiring glances from the other three men who had already decided that Edward Cullen was a man of importance. Bella was making a study of their shoes when a gong sounded, signalling for the crowd to migrate to the dining room.

They followed the flow, caught in the press like so many cattle. Masen's left hand cupped her upper arm, his thumb briefly stroking her shoulder, the only reassurance he could give her. Nothing terrible was going to happen tonight. Not to her, at least.

They took their seats at one of twelve long, rectangular tables. The tables were set in slanting pairs, like the chevrons on a military uniform. 'V's. Of course. In the far corner, a grand piano sat on a slightly elevated platform. A man sat, his back to the crowd. He played an easy, swinging jazz tune that fit comfortably beneath the buzz of conversation and laughter. As the other guests located their name tags, Bella tried to memorize as many names as possible, matching the person to the name whenever she could without allowing her gaze to rest on any one spot for long. Tanya's intelligence was thorough, but she had only tied a third of the guests near her to the Volturi in her database. The majority were unfamiliar or foreign.

There were plenty of visual distractions. The dining room was at least sixty by one hundred feet. The coffered ceilings soared high overhead, lit by four crystal chandeliers which cast a sparkling glow over the assembly. Each place was set with real silver flatware, the soft, milky glow of the silver set off by the blood-red silk napkins. The wine was served in black goblets, cut like crystal but completely opaque.

"Dearest friends, old and new, welcome, welcome!" Aro called out in a high voice, standing in the center of the room. He turned as he spoke, taking in everyone's smiling faces. "Mr. Volturi extends his apologies for bowing out of tonight's festivities at the last second. Alas, pressing business has yanked him away from us." He pouted, and there were disappointed groans throughout the room. "There now. It's okay. He implores you to take full advantage of our cunning chef's latests culinary achievements. But. . ." and he paused dramatically, "Don't forget to save some room for dessert!" He punctuated his exclamation with a lewd thrust of his hips, and sat down amid the cheers and laughter of the crowd.

Right away, waiters began to set small plates before each guest. Bella held her hands in her lap, waiting for her master's cues. The white dish had a delicate, scalloped edge. In the center, a single inverted mushroom cap overflowed with a fragrant blend of bread crumbs, shredded poultry, shallots and chopped herbs.

"Quail-stuffed portobellos. Would you like fresh truffle, sir?" the waiter asked her master.

"Just a touch."

The waiter scraped fine flecks of white truffle over Mr. Cullen's appetizer, his gloved hands holding the precious fungus between the tips of his thumb and pointer finger. "And your girl?"

"Might as well," he shrugged.

The musky scent was dizzying, almost overpowering. Bella breathed shallowly as the waiter moved on to the next guest, asking the same question. The seat on her right remained vacant.

"Eat," came the command, so Bella lifted the ornate hors d'oeuvres fork and picked at the food in front of her. It was a small serving, but the flavors were so strong that she was grateful when the waiter removed her plate and replaced it with a clear vegetable soup. Tiny shrimp and curls of leeks swam in the golden broth. Again, following her master's lead, she ate everything in front of her.

At the table near the door, a crowd of young but well-dressed men led the room in both foul language and raucous behavior. Two scantily dressed girls sat amid the six young men. The animals pawed and groped them as they ate and drank, seemingly entertained by their ability to accomplish several levels of debauchery at once. When one of the men pushed a girl under the table to kneel between his legs, Bella had to look away.

The third course was little more than three ounces of white fish, laid out on a bed of escarole. A paper-thin slice of lemon lay, almost translucent, over the fish. Bella tried to divine the motives behind Mr. Volturi's show of excess. The presentation of every course, the impeccable service, the constant flow of expensive wines. . . his guests were experiencing an European gastronomic experience unlike anything they could find anywhere else in the country. He was setting the bar so high that these men would never find a more completely hedonistic experience in their life. Perhaps the first step to commanding their loyalty was earning their admiration.

The next course was served in a tiny dish. It was nothing more than a paper-thin slice of meat, bathed in tart red juice with a halved cherry balanced on top. Bella watched Mr. Cullen eat it in a single bit, a look of astonished pleasure on his face. He caught one of the waiters by the sleeve and pulled him closer, whispering something into the young man's ear. Bella couldn't hear what he said, but the waiter walked directly to Aro and bent close to pass on the message. Aro's eyes lit up and her popped up from his seat to bow toward Mr. Cullen with a flourish. Cullen raised his wine glass in reply.

Something along the lines of 'My compliments to the chef', she guessed. Even Edward Cullen kissed ass, it seemed. The noise level rose in sync with the quantity of wine consumed. With it, the piano music became louder, bawdier.

William Gibbs, seated two tables over, called out and waved for Edward to join him. He stood, set his napkin down on his seat, leaned over her and hissed, "Stay," before wandering over to his business associate. Gibbs made a show of introducing Cullen around his table.

Bella picked at the tiny morsel of veal which she discovered was soaked in sour cherry wine. The man across from her had avoided looking at her while Edward Cullen was there to see him, but now that she sat alone, he blatantly stared at her and tried to strike up a conversation. Bella set her fork down and traded it for her wine goblet, holding it above her lap and gazing into the dark liquid. The same waiter reappeared, removing the plate with one hand and setting down a fresh fork and steak knife with the other. They put sharp weapons within reach of their captives? Were the Volturi that confident?

A heavy-set man with yellow-gold hair and quivering jowls pulled out the empty chair to her right. "Well, hello, darling. I don't think we've met before."

Bella cringed as the man's humid breath washed over her ear and cheek. He reached across with one meaty hand, three gold rings reflecting the light from the chandelier. His fingers brushed her hair back over her shoulder, then he planted his hand on her right thigh. Feeling sick to her stomach, she raised her wine glass and sipped carefully. She didn't allow herself to visibly react even though her insides were quaking as his hand slipped higher. Thankfully, Masen stepped up behind her right then, clearing his throat loudly.

The man looked over his shoulder and flinched. He sheepishly withdrew his hand and asked, "What do you call her? She's ravishing. Makes me wish I was a younger man so I could really get my money's worth out of the lovely things." He let out a wet, throaty chuckle that made the soup in her stomach curdle.

Bella envisioned herself picking up her steak knife and skewering his fat hand to the table. She couldn't do it, but the mental picture was very satisfying. She was able to relax a little when Masen reclaimed his seat on her left. He didn't reply to the other man, he just laid his napkin back in his lap and reached for his water glass.

"The name's Richard. I'm late, of course," the older man introduced himself to Masen, talking across Bella in a loud voice. "Traffic, you know. But it looks like I'm in time for the main course. Steak tonight, eh? Always the best food, the best wine. . . and the most beautiful women. Our friends sure know just how to make a man feel special, eh?"

Bella kept her eyes on her lap as the servers in tuxedos set out the main course. The slaves' portions were small, but still looked delicious. The steak on her plate was glistening with garlic butter and chopped fresh herbs. It sat, bathing in its juices, next to a modest serving of mashed potatoes and grilled vegetables. The scents instantly triggered a Pavlovian response.

Masen picked up his own silverware. He gave her a single-word command, "Eat."

She followed his order without hesitation, cutting a small corner off her steak and lifting it to her mouth. She paused mid-chew when Richard started talking again.

He was gesturing with both hands, his knife and fork hovering above his untouched plate with its enormous steak and heaping sides. "So dainty. I love it! Did you train this one? Did you bring her to sell or trade? Because I tell you, I've always been one to rent not buy, but a well-trained kitten like her, I could really see-"

Bella heard a swish and a metallic click on her left a split second before Masen's arm shot across her plate and buried a hand-forged folding knife in the loud man's steak. Richard's voice cut off with a strangled, choking sound.

Masen unceremoniously lifted the dripping slab of rare-grilled beef, dropped it onto his own plate, and wordlessly resumed eating. Richard's mouth gaped. Bella was hard pressed to keep a straight face. With casual, gentle strokes, Masen dissected the steak bite by bite, the easy glide of steel through cooked flesh an eloquent demonstration of the blade's keen edge.

Around them, conversation had come to a complete stop. Richard's gurgling protestations were finally cut off when Masen set the knife down, carefully dabbed his mouth with his napkin and turned to face the older man. His voice rang out, colder than ice, in the sudden stillness of the dining room. "Hello, Dick. My name is Edward. And if you ever lay a hand on one of my possessions without my authorization again, I will take much more than the food off your plate as payment." Bella was the only one who continued to eat and drink, eyes down and timidly obedient. The rest of the guests mumbled and murmured in confusion.

Aro's delighted cackle cut through the buzz. "Oh, Mr. Cullen. You do have a flare for the dramatic! Bravo, bravo! Don't worry, dear Richard. We'll grill you up another steak, pronto!" With his hands on his hips, he scolded the other guests. "Well, don't sit there goggling like fish, people. Eat! Eat!"

The other guests did gradually return to their food and conversation. On her right, Richard seemed to have lost both his appetite and his tongue. When the promised replacement meal arrived, he picked at it timidly before burying his face in his wine glass.

Bella kept her eyes mostly down, but she snuck glances up and down the table and around the room, noting faces both familiar and strange. Next to Aro sat a tiny girl with blond hair. She was dressed provocatively in denim boy shorts and a tiny white lace bra. Bella's eyes watered. The girl could have been anywhere from 10 to 16 years old, but by her flat chest, narrow hips and large, limpid eyes, Bella was certain she wasn't much older than twelve.

The girl had a sweet but pouty face. As Bella watched, she got up from her seat and climbed into Aro's lap, curling up like a kitten with her blonde head tucked under his chin. Aro greeted her with an indulgent smile, wrapped his arms loosely around her nearly nude body and kept talking to the man beside him. His slender fingers stroked up and down her back. Just like a cat.

Bella set her fork down and reached for her wine glass again. She tried to commit each face to memory. The waiters, the guests and the captive girls. She wanted their images burned into her mind. She worked her way around the tables, frustrated that so many people were sitting with their backs to her. Patience, she chided herself. So far, three of the girls were possible matches for the missing girls in Special Agent Mahardy's file.

Bella became a little bolder. Nobody was paying her any attention. Masen was deep in conversation with a Japanese businessman who sat across from him. Their conversation was stilted and broken, but no less animated for the language barrier.

Bella's breath caught and her hand jerked, almost spilling her wine. She had inadvertently locked eyes with a man. Flat, serpentine yellow eyes, too washed out to be called hazel, stared back at her. Bella called on Marie's nature to take the lead. Her eyes widened and she shrank back, but she didn't look away. She couldn't. The man's hair was stringy and blond, receding on top. A mouth too wide for his narrow jaw twisted into a feral smile. . . a smile that turned her bones to jelly.

Hypnotized and terrified, Bella weakly set her glass down. The man stood up, pulling an emaciated girl along with him. Her dark hair was cropped short and uneven, almost to her scalp in places. She was wearing a plain white bra and cotton underwear, but both were so frayed and filthy that they were mottled gray and beige. Her ribs stretched her opalescent skin, and her hip bones jutted out alarmingly. It was horrific. Bella found herself staring down advanced starvation while surrounded by an excess of food.

Then the girl looked up. Too sharp features. Too large eyes. But Bella knew those eyes. Mary Alice. . .

Bella looked back at the place where they had been sitting. The man's plate still held the remains of an enormous meal. They had served him so much that he couldn't even finish it. The plate beside him was pristine and white. It had come straight from the cupboard to the table. Empty. Other girls had been eating. She'd seen them. Was Mary Alice being punished for something?

Exhilarated that they had found her, but horrified by Mary Alice's condition, Bella was trembling with emotion. Hatred for the man set fire to her nerves. She closed her eyes to hide it. He was coming her way.

"Mr. . . Cullen, is it?"

"Who's asking?" Edward Cullen replied in a distracted tone. He had been in the midst of a conversation with the man on his left.

"You can call me James."

"Which means that isn't your real name."

"Is Cullen yours?"

Mr. Cullen smiled condescendingly. "What can I do for you, James?"

"Actually, I came to offer you a bit of advice. You must be new to this game. You keep feeding your bitch like that, and she's going to get ideas into her head. She's going to think she can fight you. Maybe even run away."

"If I want to fuck a scarecrow, I'll move to Iowa," Mr. Cullen sneered, his eyes skimming James' companion. Bella flinched. Mary Alice didn't move at all. She didn't seem to care that they were talking about her. Her eyes were looking through them. Seeing what, Bella had no idea.

"So you like it when they fight back."

"Maybe I do," Mr. Cullen agreed with a smirk.

"It's a lot harder to keep a low profile with a black eye," James taunted, obviously seeing the trace evidence of bruising on the newcomer's face. "Think about it. I've been doing this for years. I know what I'm talking about."

"I must say, it's always nice to hear from the experts."

As with everything Edward Cullen said, the words were polite, but the tone was dripping disdain and sarcasm.

James sneered in response and turned away, yanking Mary Alice along behind him by the thin leash that hung from her dilapidated leather collar. The other men seated close to them eyed Cullen. Twice in one night, he had gone toe-to-toe with men they knew. . . and he had stomped all over them. Not only that, but their host's spokesman hadn't batted an eye. He'd even congratulated Edward Cullen for his audacity. Hours ago, less than five people in the room knew him. His reputation was quickly growing to titanic proportions.

As people finished their steaks, the waiters began to make their rounds with the vegetable course, cold asparagus in a balsamic-sesame vinaigrette. Bella kept her eyes on her plate as she carefully cut up sections of asparagus. She didn't want her admiration for her partner to show.

The gong sounded again, signalling the end of the meal. Servers had placed trays of petit fours out on a buffet, along with hot coffee and spirits. Some men grabbed smalls plates and coffee cups while others trickled from the room with girls in tow. The Japanese man that Masen had been conversing with approached Aro, who placed the blonde girl's hand in his. She slipped daintily from the concierge's lap to follow her assignation from the room.

Shocked, disgusted and sick at heart, Bella sat stock still in her seat and waited for Masen to make his next move.

It wasn't what she expected.

Edward Cullen turned her chair almost 180 degrees with a quick yank that snapped her head around. He placed his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up to his. But he didn't stop there. His fingertips hooked beneath her jaw bone and continued to pull up, forcing her out of her chair. She wobbled and tried to steady herself, but the chair and table were too far away. Her fingers wrapped around his larger wrist, trying to take some of the stabbing pressure off of her chin and throat.

"That asshole could be right, but I like a little meat on you," he mused with a speculative smile. His free hand dropped down and squeezed her right butt cheek.

Marie whimpered, but knew better than to pull away.

"I like you with a little fight. A bit of spark. It makes life more. . . interesting."

His mouth came down on hers without warning. His lips and tongue were rough. He dug the thumb and middle finger of his right hand into her jaw joint, brutally forcing her lips apart. Marie's fingernails scrabbled at his wrist and forearm, drawing blood. He laughed into her mouth.

"I do hope you try to run again, little rabbit. Catching you always feels so good. Come along now," he commanded, trusting her to fall in line behind him as he left the dining room. He didn't need the leash. He had fear.

Hoots and jeers pummeled her back. Bella was feeling faint. She breathed deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to ward off the fog that crept around the fringes of her vision. This was definitely another world, and it had a name. She was in hell.

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_I seem to have gained a whole slew of new readers over the course of the last couple chapters. I have no idea where you all came from, but I sure am happy that you're here! I am curious. . . how many guys are reading this story? My husband has only made through chapter four. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?_

_Oh, yeah, and I actually like Iowa. Sorry guys. No offense intended. Edward Cullen is a bigot and an asshole._


	42. Chapter 42

A/N: I know it's short, but I'm struggling with the logistics of the next scene and didn't want to leave you hanging for too long.

Thanks to the kind reader(s) who nominated 'On The Line' for the TwiFicFandom Awards. WOW! LOVE YOU GUYS!

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Night had completely claimed the sky during the seven-course meal. The eyes that lit the hallway glowed crimson and amber, while white lights winked on and off around them, making it impossible for her eyes to adapt or focus on a single spot. Disoriented, Bella was surprised when Masen stopped and unlocked the door to their assigned room. She had lost count of the recessed entryways as they passed. Eleven? Twelve? She needed to get her emotions under control. She needed to pay better attention. Bella made a mental commitment to invest as much effort learning the floorplan as she spent on learning the people. If she got separated from Masen for any reason. . . The thought was frightening. And very possible.

When the bedroom door swung closed, Masen's - Cullen's? - hand closed around her wrist, and he yanked her close. Bella let out a yelp of surprise. His fingers twisted into her hair, viciously tugging her head around. Bella found herself crushed against the wall with Edward Cullen's face against her throat. The sharp frame of his glasses scraped against the side of her face, and she cried out again. What was he doing? With no chance to plan or discuss, Bella was flying blind, trapped in a reactive state.

Oh. . . Oh! That was the plan. React. She continued to cry out and fight back, trusting Masen to determine just how far this scene was going to go.

"My phone. Left pocket," he whispered into her ear. "Press and hold the top button."

Bella wedged her hand between their bodies, and Masen concealed the movement with his own arm. She fumbled until she found and depressed the button. His phone let out a loud buzz and chirped.

"Fucking hell!," he barked, pushing back and whipping his phone out of his pocket. "What? I'm busy."

Bella's heart was pounding, and she stayed pressed against the wall. Were they being watched, or was Masen just playing it safe? He had given the room a cursory inspection when they arrived, but they had left the room twice since then for hours at a time. There was no telling who had access in Edward Cullen's absence, or what devices they might have planted.

"Yes. Obviously," he said in a more controlled voice, pacing across the room.

As the fake conversation dragged on, Bella relaxed her posture. Pretending that all she wanted was to be invisible, to be left alone, she removed her shoes and padded over to the wardrobe. Dutiful and quiet, she began to unpack and put away all of her master's belongings. Then, because he was now working on his phone and computer simultaneously, she continued on with Marie's clothing and accoutrements.

It soon became evident that Edward Cullen was going to work late into the night. Bella undressed and changed into a black slip, her skin crawling when she considered the possibility that her every move was being captured and watched by the enemy. In the bathroom, she took special care to completely remove her heavy makeup, brush and floss thoroughly, then clean the, mirror, counter and surrounding area once she finished. Edward Cullen was meticulous. He would demand the same of his slave.

She approached the massive bed hesitantly. Edward Cullen had made Marie sleep on the floor at the hotel. However, there were no blankets or pillows set out for her here. Marie would never have the audacity to take anything from her master for her own comfort. She settled on the floor at the foot of the bed, shifting around to find a comfortable position.

"In my bed!" Mr. Cullen's voice rang out. He hadn't even looked up from his work. "I shouldn't have to scrounge around on the floor if I want you later."

"Yes, sir," she replied submissively.

Bella crept beneath the covers on the far side of the bed, keeping as much distance between herself and the tyrant as possible. In her normal life, Bella sprawled in her sleep, moving randomly from her back to her side, even sleeping on her stomach at times. Marie curled into the fetal position, the covers pulled up above her ears and chin. With her mind still fighting to process the scope of the horrors she had witnessed that night, Bella drifted into a fitful sleep.

She woke up with a scream fighting to escape past the hand that covered her nose and mouth. She couldn't see. She couldn't breathe!

"Time to play, little bunny," came the evil hiss near her ear, loud enough to carry past the heavy velvet curtains that enclosed the bed.

Her heart racing a mile a minute, Bella froze.

"Uh uh. Remember what I said earlier. I like it when you fight me."

Bella let out a terrified sob. "Please. . ."

"On the count of three, try to get away. One. . . Two. . ."

Bella lunged for the edge of the bed, her hand grasping at the thin strip of gray light between the sections of fabric.

"Three!" Edward Cullen's voice cried, yanking her back beneath him. He let out a victorious laugh.

She yelped as his weight fell across her, making her ribs and spine creak.

"Okay, Swan, show me what you got," Masen's voice whispered in her ear.

Bella kneed him between the legs, satisfied when he grunted in pain.

"You bitch," he growled.

Bella had to stop herself from laughing, although even her humor had a disturbing tinge of desperation to it. Masen never would have allowed her to get a shot like that in if they weren't acting.

What ensued was a grappling lesson unlike any that had come before. Deprived of her sense of sight, Bella closed her eyes and focused on touch. Masen's weight shifted down slightly before every upper body movement. Conversely, it shifted forward a split second before he moved his legs. Sensing that tiny cue enabled her to take advantage of infinitesimal openings to squirm and move her own body.

Unlike his previous fighting lessons, Masen didn't pin her in seconds. She could tell he was slowing things down, allowing her to find windows of opportunity and exploit them. At the same time, he was teaching her how to defend herself if she were ever truly assaulted. Her forehead, her teeth, hands, elbows, knees. . . they were her weapons. He began grasping and manipulating her limbs, running them through certain moves, repeating the actions until she understood how to deliver the most forceful blow in any position.

They were breathing hard, the bed creaking and bouncing as they fought. Bella felt a vicious satisfaction knowing that any Volturi spies that were watching or listening would think they were collecting evidence of Edward Cullen's corruption, when in actual fact, the pair was training to fight them.

It didn't take long for Bella to wear out. The adrenaline from her earlier fright had burned off, leaving her muscles rubbery and weak. Finally, Masen pinned her for real.

The bone-chilling voice of Edward Cullen returned, out of breath, but still cold and cruel. "That's more like it. That's just what I needed. Thanks for making it interesting," he chuckled, low and hoarse.

Bella's partner rolled off of her with a groan and a satisfied sigh. She lay still, catching her breath. In the silence and the blackness, she felt Masen's fingers trace down her forearm until he found her hand. With their fingers intertwined and clenched tight, a sort of sanity anchor amid the madness, Bella eventually drifted back to sleep.

* * *

Many of you have asked the question. I hope this scene answered it. Thanks for reading!

**PLEASE READ** For anyone who is wondering about the facts: A reader forwarded me the link to an article this morning detailing the magnitude of the human trafficking problem and sex crimes in San Diego. A single county in one state in this nation estimates that upwards of 8000 minors are victims of this industry EVERY YEAR. Step back and consider not just the U.S., but the entire world. If that doesn't make you want to cry, rage, whatever, what will? Girls, and often times boys, are lured in with affection, money, drugs, jewelry, flattery, etc. isolated from their friends and family, then coerced to prostitute themselves, all for the profit of gangs and pimps. It isn't fiction. It is real. Real humans, real lives, _children!_ being exploited on a daily basis. There are a great many non-profits and government agencies trying to fight the perpetrators and help these young people heal and find peace and a happy future. Look them up. Generate Hope, based in San Diego, is one such charity providing housing, therapy and job opportunities for girls who have nowhere else to turn. See if there is something you can do to help in your local area. Even a small cash donation could help change a victim into a survivor. If this story can become a vehicle to help save lives, I would be so grateful. Thank you!**


	43. Chapter 43

First day I've really been able to write all month. Thanks for your patience!

* * *

Hours later, she was jerked awake by the screech of brass rings being dragged across the wooden curtain rod as her captor yanked the bed drapes open. Blinded by the full brightness of the morning sun blazing through their east-facing windows, Bella raised her arms to cover her eyes.

"I changed my mind. You're coming with me. Get dressed. You have ten minutes."

"Yes, sir," she gasped, her thoughts whirring. _They were leaving? Where to? Why?_

Bella grabbed underwear and clothes, wriggling into a tight miniskirt and blouse. Then she scrambled over to the bathroom to brush her teeth and pull her hair into a ponytail. It still held onto the loose, ratty waves from the night before, but it looked okay tied up. On the other hand, her bare face was a problem. Afraid she would jab herself in the eye in her race against the clock, Bella kept her eye makeup simple, trusting that 'clean and neat' was a more acceptable look than 'drunk and stoned'.

Edward Cullen's begrudging approval was a relief. "You'll do. Let's go."

Bella scuffled along behind her master. He marched down the now-familiar hallway to the front door and out to his waiting vehicle. Feeling eyes on her back, Bella maintained her meek posture even after she was buckled in and obscured from view. Nobody stopped them, however, cognizant that they were still on Volturi land, Bella kept her eyes open and her mouth shut.

It didn't feel like an escape. Edward Cullen's movements were purposeful, not frantic. Hurried, but more like he was late for an appointment, not fleeing pursuit. He even paused to adjust his seat before shutting his door. The Volturi's valet was the recipient of some harsh words. Five minutes later, they were leaving the island, cruising across the bridge to West Palm Beach.

Bella chanced a glance at her partner's face. He was scowling. Before long, they pulled up to a familiar building. Bella recognized Delancy's Dodge Viper a few parking stalls further down. Still cloaked in her docile and mousey persona, Bella followed her owner into the boutique real estate office and took a seat in the waiting area near an older lady. The other client's hair was perfectly coiffed and dyed an unnatural peach color. She wore a summer-weight blue suit over a coral-colored silk blouse and pearls. Bella's scant attire earned a bitter glare and a snort of disapproval.

"What's wrong, ma'am? Jealous that you can't still show a little leg? I bet you were a feisty one when you were younger."

The female client drew herself up, sputtering in outrage at Edward Cullen's disrespectful tone. Bella didn't have to pretend to be shocked. What was he doing?

"Never mind. I think you've still got it. How would you feel about a quickie in the conference room while we're all waiting for Mr. Delancy? I'm sure my girl could learn a thing or two, watching an old pro like you."

"You're disgusting," she woman hissed, her skin flushing red beneath her powdered cheeks.

"Maybe I am. But you're tempted to call my bluff, aren't you? See if I would really give you a work out? I like you. I bet you spit and howl like an alleycat when your old man takes you from behind, don't you?"

"My. . Why, I. . . You. . ." she gasped, her mouth opening and closing spasmodically like a fish dropped on the dry deck of a boat.

Bella watched, wide-eyed, as the woman lost all semblance of self-control. She fumbled with her purse and fled the office with Mr. Cullen's cruel laughter echoing after her.

"What in the blazes is going on out here?" Malcolm Delancy cried, barging through the interior door. "Is that Mrs. Cope leaving? Where is she going? She had papers to sign!" He held a haphazard stack of documents in his hands.

"Don't worry. She'll be back. She had a hot flash and needed a few minutes to cool off. Now, where is that contractor you wanted me to meet?" Edward explained casually.

"God dammit. I guess I'll have to catch up with her later. Darrel just pulled up. He's an old friend. Trustworthy. Discreet. He'll walk through the property with us once we're mutual. You just need to tell him what equipment or accessories you want installed or upgraded, and he'll work up an itemized quote."

"Anything I want?" Mr. Cullen asked with an evil smirk.

Thinking back to the steel rings that the Volturi had jutting out of their forbidding stone walls, a chill clambered up Bella's spine and prickled her scalp. At the same time, she was excited to realize they were making another contact; one who, presumably, had a short list of 'special' clients with very particular requests. If Masen could get his hands on that list, they would have even more names to add to Tanya's database.

Delancy rode in Darrel's fancy pickup truck, while Masen and Bella followed them. Darrel had recently completed a project for another one of Delancy's clients and he was eager to show off his work to another prospective client. Bella just couldn't understand why Masen had dragged her along. Even so, she was grateful. Waking up alone in the Volturi stronghold would have been terrifying.

The house they arrived at was smaller than the one Cullen was buying, and not nearly as ostentatious. It did share one obvious trait; the property was surrounded by a high wall. Cameras were mounted at intervals, and the gate was a sturdy, reinforced security feature, not just a fancy architectural element.

Darrel showed them around the house which had just undergone a floor to ceiling renovation. On the surface, it was an exceedingly luxurious, but normal house. Then they reached _the room_. The air felt dead inside, as if that particular space had its own dedicated climate control system. There were no windows, and the soundproofing on the walls and ceilings gave it the muffled, cocoon-like feel of a recording booth.

The floor was unique. It didn't fit with the rest of the house at all. It was faux tile, soft underfoot, but plasticky and cheap looking. The entire floor sloped inward slightly, and there was a drain in the center of the room. Fixtures in the walls and ceilings, along with the specialized apparatus - she couldn't call the pieces furniture - and video equipment, spelled out the room's purpose very clearly. It was a modern torture chamber. And the owner was one of those videographers, self-proclaimed 'artists', whose favorite medium was sexual depravity.

The goosebumps that sprang up on Bella's skin did not go away quickly, even after they finished their tour and went back out to the sunshine. Mr. Cullen completed his business with Delancy and Darrel, making tentative plans to start work on his new house as soon as he acquired the title. He set a follow up appointment to meet Darrel at the contractor's office in two weeks, assuming that they would have opened escrow by that point and completed initial inspections. Bella guessed that the office visit would give him the opportunity to procure Darrel's client list.

When they left the property, Masen did not return to Palm Beach. Bella fidgeted with the bracelets around her wrists, twisting them around and around, as they zigzagged back and forth through the streets of West Palm Beach. Half an hour later, they left the city center and drove out to the airport. Had they been tailed? Masen hadn't used the silver kill switch. They could be under remote surveillance and not know it.

After more than an hour of silence, the noise and bustle of the airport crowds were overwhelming. Bella stuck close to her partner as they got lost in the sea of travelers. Moving with the confidence and self-assurance of somebody who belonged there, Masen opened a door next to a walled off retail space. There was a sign advertising a new restaurant set to open in two months, but behind the temporary wall, the space was dark and open. He pulled the door shut and bolted it behind him

"Did you bring everything I requested?" Masen asked the shadow that detached itself from a pillar near the back of the space.

"All that and more," came the reply.

Bella recognized the accented, slightly sibilant voice immediately. Peter had followed them to Florida.

"Senorita," he greeted her with a nod.

Bella gave him a cool smile in response. She hadn't forgotten his obnoxious behavior at the safehouse in Seattle.

There was a small office in the corner beside a rear access door. Behind the gray door, Bella found a room jam-packed with everything the CIA agent needed to hide out for days. He had a cot, a desk and chair, a microwave and a mini fridge. Crates were piled up against the back wall, labelled with innocuous contents, such as back splash tiles, grout and spackle. Peeking into one popped lid, Bella saw expensive devices padded between layers of dark gray foam. The gadgets matched items from the list they had submitted to Mahardy. Evidently, despite the bad blood between them, Masen did trust his former partner.

Masen was inspecting a briefcase on the desk. It contained all the counter-surveillance pieces they needed to ensure their room was actually free of bugs, cameras and other sensors. Masen tossed extra batteries into the suitcase and snapped it shut.

"My turn," Peter said with a sly smile. "Have you met any of my friends recently?"

"You have an interesting interpretation of the word 'friend'. I spent most of my time conversing with Hayato Inoue. Not his actual name, although I believe the name he gave had personal meaning to him. Five-foot-eight, about one-eighty, wore a gold ring with a symbol on his right pinky."

Masen was sketching as he spoke. Bella recognized the man who had left the feast with the tiny blonde girl. He was in his mid-forties, with thick black hair combed neatly to the left. The symbol on his ring was a winged creature.

"Hawk that flies above the well. Interesting name. And the symbol. . . maybe a family crest. I have a contact who can help me decipher it. Did he say anything useful?"

"He enjoys sailing and has the calluses to prove it. He declined wine at dinner. His jacket didn't fit perfectly, as if he had recently lost some weight. He claimed it was only his second time being invited to an event at the mansion. He was excited about the owner's promise to loan him a girl for the whole night free of charge; a thank you for a job he recently completed back home. He left the dining hall with a young blonde girl, prepubescent, frail. Possibly a fetishist. Is that enough to go on?"

"With the sketch and the ring, yes. I'll have him ID'ed by the morning. Same drop box?"

"Same. Oh, and do me a favor. Break that apart as much as possible. If he catches wind that somebody from the mansion is checking up on him, and it comes back to me, my cover is blown."

"My friend, I am discretion."

"You're a horse's ass."

"Tsk, tsk. Is that how you talk in front of a lady? Senorita, tell me, what can you add that the inestimable Agent Masen might have missed."

Having been deprived of her free speech for the better part of two days, it took Bella a moment to find her voice. She thought back to the previous night and the man who had monopolized Masen's attention for much of the dinner.

"This Mr. Inoue guy, he's ambidextrous."

"Really. . ." Peter said thoughtfully.

Masen was observing her with a half smile and one eyebrow raised. Perhaps he hadn't noticed it himself, but his memories of his dining partner's movements throughout the night evidently backed up her assertion.

"Yes. He spoke very little English, so he was drawing his boat to explain his hobby to Masen," she explained. "Partway through the sketch, he put his pencil down and reached for his water glass. When he picked the pencil up again to continue drawing, he used his left hand."

"Fascinating. And did he seem to handle his eating utensils with ease?" Peter continued.

"Not as well as Masen," Bella replied, fighting a smirk.

"Huh. You liked that, did you?" Masen asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"A few seconds earlier, I had been daydreaming about stabbing him in the hand. But your idea made a better impression," Bella laughed, remembering the way Richard had jumped.

"You have to out-asshole the assholes to be accepted as one of them."

"It seems to be working."

"We'll see. Peter, can I have a few minutes to speak with my partner privately?"

"I do need to get back to my day job. I'm sure some drunk gringo has clogged the toilets by the security checkpoint again," the CIA agent agreed, stepping into a pair of coveralls with the name 'Jesus' embroidered on the left breast. "Senorita, until we meet again," he said, giving her a small bow of farewell.

Bella smiled and gave him a little wave. She was relieved that Masen had asked Peter to leave them alone for a bit. She had been on the verge of pushing for a private debrief herself. There were so many questions crowding her brain.

"You remember what I said about invisibility? Latinos in the service industry are practically ghosts," Masen said, referring to Peter's cover ID.

"Kind of racist, isn't it?"

"Wearing a stereotype as a disguise isn't being racist. It's working with what you're given. Did you think it was sexist for Mahardy to select you as a stand in for a sex slave?"

"Well, no. . ."

"Of course not. You have the necessary parts. Peter has dark skin and an accent. If people underestimate him, they are fools. If he fails to take advantage of that, he's the fool."

"I know, but. . ."

"It bothers you," he stated, not asking, just confirming.

"A little."

"You'll get over it. Human sensibilities do more harm than good in our line of work. You need thick skin, Swan."

"No kidding. The last couple of days. . ." She shivered and rubbed her arms briskly.

"You're doing very well. Great, actually. I won't always be able to take you with me the way I did today, but when Malcolm offered me the chance to meet his contractor, I couldn't pass it up. And I certainly wasn't going to leave you there unguarded. Not without a plan or some form of safety precautions in place."

"Thanks. I was freaked out at first, but the alternative would have been way worse. By the way, what was up with that stunt at Delancy's office? Why were you so horrible to that woman?"

"So she would scram before any witnesses could see you, me, Delancy and that contractor together in the same place. Darrel pulled up ten minutes ahead of schedule. Delancy was running late with his last appointment. If he sat down to sign paperwork with that woman while the rest of us were all waiting together, it would have created a very awkward situation. There would have been no way to control what anyone else said or did. I certainly couldn't know what to expect from her. Covers can get stretched uncomfortably thin in situations like that."

"So you were a misogynistic prick to chase her away?"

"Pretty much. She's safer this way. Don't worry. She won't say a word."

"How can you know that? I would have gotten your information and reported it to the police!"

"You're you. She. . . well, she liked the attention, and that embarrassed her. She was jealous of you."

"No way," Bella argued in disbelief.

"Yes. She was a rock and roll groupie in her younger days. She had the logo of her favorite band from the seventies tattooed on her ankle, along with tally marks. Twelve if I counted correctly. She was a real party girl back in the day."

"Twelve what?"

"Great question. And she didn't disapprove of the way you were dressed. She was envious. When a woman checks out another woman so thoroughly, she's either gay or jealous. Did you see how she responded to me? Definitely not gay."

"You mean when she was on the verge of clawing your eyes out?"

"That is not what she was feeling. She ran away because she was tempted to call my bluff."

"Wow," Bella deadpanned. She couldn't tell if he was serious or joking.

"I know, right?"

"Right. New subject. These cameras? Will you be installing them in our room?"

"After I give it a thorough cleaning. I don't trust Mr. Volturi or his minions. And that Aro character is too wily by far."

"He likes you," Bella teased.

"Good. Maybe he'll let something slip by accident. Slimy little creep. How are you feeling so far?"

"It's all so surreal. I don't even know, really. And seeing Mary Alice like that. . . seeing what they've done to her. . . I feel like we're on the set of a horror movie. Like it can't possibly be real, you know?"

"Disassociation. Your mind is fighting facts that it thinks will pull it apart. Contradictions that it cannot assimilate. You believe that men are essentially good, but you're witnessing just how depraved they can be. Your mind doesn't want to accept it. You'll have to break through that barrier. There isn't one man in that room last night who wouldn't have willingly tormented or abused you given the chance. In your mind 'human' means 'good'. You're wrong. There is no such rule. Some humans are not good. They are evil, but they're still humans. They eat, they sleep, they laugh and cry. Many possess altruistic notions and feelings of love and affection toward other people. But they are still sick, parasitic monsters. There is no such thing as black and white in this world. That's why we use the law as our compass. These men are criminals according to the law of the land. It's our job to gather enough evidence for the legal boys to put them behind bars."

"Why do I feel like you're reading from a text book? Is that what you really think?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"When you said that there's no such thing as black and white," she explained.

"If you had to assign me a color, what would it be?"

"Well, not black."

"There's a long list of people who would argue the opposite. You say not black. But not purely white?"

"Whiter than most."

"That's where you're wrong, Miss Swan. I'm about as black as they come on this side of the line." His eyes were hard as flint, daring her to contradict him.

"The line?"

"Between right and wrong," he clarified.

"But you are right. You are good," Bella said decisively.

"We'll see." He pulled a bag of potato chips off the desk and started eating. "I need to send a report to Agent Filipovna. Help me add to this list."

He had changed the subject, and she didn't have the guts to change it back.

Masen queued up his phone to a draft email which contained a list of all the names of victims and perpetrators he recognized from the Volturi dinner party. There were several that Bella had missed, being unable to look around freely. Even so, she still recalled a handful of individuals that he had overlooked, and compared notes with Masen on the IDs of several other that she wasn't so sure about.

"Good. Next, I've been invited to play a round of poker tonight. It's going to be a much smaller crowd than last night."

"That's good," Bella said, relieved.

"Yes and no. It's easy to hide in a crowd. Much harder when you command a greater portion of the host's attention."

"So Mr. Volturi will be there tonight?"

"As I understand it. He's a big fan of poker. Texas Hold 'Em."

"I have no idea how to play cards," Bella said in a worried tone.

"That's not a problem. What will be difficult is that a smaller group encourages more. . . more. . . Let's just say, I wouldn't be surprised if we were to witness some difficult things tonight. And you'll see Edward Cullen acting in character. It may be very hard for you to witness."

"You aren't him," Bella said forcefully.

"I know that," Masen assured her, reaching into the bottom of the chip bag for the last broken pieces.

"But you're afraid I don't."

"I just don't want you to forget," Masen said, emptying the rest of the chip crumbs into his open mouth.

"I won't," she promised. "I know you."

_Better than most_, she amended in her own head.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for sharing your stories with me, the charities you support and the things you have seen and heard within your own communities. The news today that a famous spokesperson has plead guilty to possession of child pornography and been sentenced to 15 years of prison just underscores how prevalent these crimes are. For every person who derives pleasure from a child's suffering, there is an innocent life being destroyed, and behind it all there is a perpetrator cashing in on their pain. Children from broken homes, foster kids, runaways... these are the most vulnerable. One of my readers told me about a charity her family supports. If this story has struck a chord with you, please visit The SOLD Project's homepage. There are a multitude of charities that work to help victims recover from abuse and reintegrate into society. The SOLD Project goes one step further, identifying high risk groups of children in Thailand and funding programs that help them stay in school, raise awareness, address financial challenges, counsel families, and so much more. Their goal is prevention. After all, we all know that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. After learning about this group, I firmly believe that elements of their program can and should be benchmarked throughout the world. Sex traffickers prey on the weak. How can we help make children strong? Check out what they are doing. It might surprise you how easy (and cheap) it is to save a life!


	44. Chapter 44

A/N: It's been a really rough week. I have zero faith that I'll have the next Monolith or Mosaic chapters up before Christmas. But you can chew on this for now. :) Thanks for reading!

* * *

"There's one other thing that's been bothering me," Bella mused, twisting herself back and forth in the old desk chair, her feet braced against a stack of boxes.

"What's that?" Masen was packing up and getting ready to leave.

"You told that Michael guy you wanted him to find a replacement for Marie. What are you going to do if they actually bring one in?"

"They won't find a match. It's practically impossible. I described a girl who is the exact opposite of every risk category. Educated, well spoken, confident, beautiful, outgoing, excellent social skills. . . They aren't going to find anyone like that in their inventory."

"Of course not, but what if they kidnap somebody?"

"I'll find some basis for rejection. I'll send them back out with stricter criteria. Don't worry. That's just a minor detail at this point."

"Now it is, but when they drag some poor drugged girl in front of you like a cat showing off a dead bird, you're going to have to come up with a pretty convincing lie to keep us all alive and the mission intact."

Masen held his breath for a moment, a far-off look in his eyes. "I'll come up with something."

"Okaaay," Bella said, waiting for him to elaborate.

With his lips pressed tightly together, he double checked his supplies, snapped the briefcase shut again and stood up. "You ready?"

"I guess so."

"Let's do this."

Masen was back in character as Edward Cullen the second he unlocked the door and exited the vacant retail space. Bella wasn't nearly ready for the respite to end, but they were already on their way back to the mansion. She was still stunned and relieved to know that they had an ally nearby. In her excited state, it was much harder to reconnect with Marie's beaten-down personality. She had so many other emotions bubbling inside.

Masen didn't seem to have the same challenge. When they reached the BMW, a few rough words from her partner sent her back to that hopeless place. Bella closed her eyes and immersed herself in Marie's memories as they drove, putting on the girl's personality and feelings as if they were layers of clothing.

The gate was closed when they pulled up to the Volturi property, but it didn't take more than a couple seconds for whoever controlled it to allow them to enter. Bella was simultaneously relieved and anxious. When would they have another opportunity to speak freely?

Masen didn't wait for a valet to meet him at his door. He climbed out of the car immediately, pulled the briefcase out of the trunk and beckoned for Bella to fall in step behind him. He tossed his key at a beige-clad employee as they passed, huffing when the man fumbled and almost dropped it.

"Mr. Cullen!" Aro's voice rang out as they passed through the foyer. "Just in time! We're serving a light lunch out by the pool. Come and join us!"

"I have a couple calls to make before-"

"On the weekend? No, no, no. Is this what you northwesterners do? You need to relax. Unwind a little. Promise me you'll come," Aro pleaded, his lower lip jutting out in a childlike pout.

Edward Cullen's mouth twisted up into a stiff approximation of a smile. "How could I refuse? Thank you for the generous offer. I won't be long."

"Excellent! The water is delightful. I'll give you twenty minutes to make your calls and change into your swim trunks. Not a minute more," Aro admonished, shaking his finger at them. He babbled on, "I'll escort you there myself. Wouldn't want you to take a wrong turn roaming these halls, now would we? A man could get lost and starve before we found him. It's simply wasteful how enormous this place is, if you ask me. But you know these Europeans. Spare no expense, right?"

"Sure seems that way," he responded in a dry tone. "I'll listen for your knock in twenty minutes. Come along, Marie."

Bella didn't think she was being paranoid. Aro was flat out warning her owner not to go snooping around the property without an escort. Evidently, the Volturi were no more inclined to let Edward Cullen into their confidence than he was to trust them. She wondered how long the Volturi's vetting process would take, and just how deep Masen would have to go before he found what he was after.

It was time for another costume change. Bella had already appeared in bikinis, in her underwear and completely nude. It should have been easy to slip on a swimsuit. It should have been, but it wasn't. Her fingers fumbled at her bra clasp and tangled in the complicated straps. Masen looked over, his eyes telling her she was on her own, and she had better get it together quickly.

Masen did don swim trunks before Aro knocked on the door, but he made a show of fastening all except the top button of his shirt and pocketing his sunglasses and keys, then dialing another number on his phone as Aro stood waiting in the passage.

Aro let out a low whistle when Bella stepped into the hallway. "What a delicious treat. Come along, darling. Mr. Cullen is obviously preoccupied. Walk with me. Tell me, how was your day?"

"It was nice, sir," she replied timidly, her eyes darting back to her partner. He was trailing them by a couple yards carrying on a business call as they walked.

"Nice? Is that all? Details, sweetheart. Details! Come now, I love stories. How fares the world outside these dark and dismal walls? My work simply owns me. I miss having the freedom to roam about. Let me live through you, just this once! Did you go shopping? Find a nice spot for breakfast? I've heard that there is a delightful French restaurant on Belvedere Road. That's up by the airport if you aren't familiar with the area."

"Cut it out," Cullen's voice cut in sharply. "Marie may not be very bright, but she's smart enough not to talk about my personal business. If you want to know where I've been, just ask me."

"I'm sure I don't know what-"

"Yes, I went to the airport. I had a meeting with an international client who only had time for a short layover. Did you have me followed?"

"What a preposterous idea! Have you followed," Aro cackled as if that was the most absurd accusation in the world. "I simply don't know where you get these ideas. You're among friends here, Mr. Cullen. Friends watch each other's backs."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Excuse me, I need to make one more call."

Bella was relieved when they left the eerie hallway and entered the centrally located atrium. Her eyes immediately found the door which led to the dayroom where the Volturi's girls spent so much of their time. Aro steered them to the right, around the perimeter of the bright space to another hallway. The short tunnel opened to a wide room with soaring ceilings and windows that filled the entire east-facing wall. The unfiltered sunlight was blinding.

There was a warm sea-breeze and salt in the air. Wide sections of the windows had been rolled back, opening up to a broad flagstone patio. Bella flinched when she heard a scream followed by a loud splash.

"Tch, tch. It's okay, little one. They're just having fun. Let me introduce you to the party." Bella's hand was trapped in the crook of Aro's elbow. He pulled her out into the open and called out to a group of young men.

Bella recognized the rowdy guys from the party the previous evening. Apparently they held a position of some significance with Mr. Volturi since they were staying at the mansion. There were more than a dozen men gathered at the shallow end of the hexagonal swimming pool, and another small group was clustered around an open-air bar.

"Royce, honey, come meet my new friend. Marie, Mr. King is here on a similar mission to your dear patron. He's looking for a long-term companion. Perhaps this is more than a fortuitous coincidence!"

Bella was quaking by the time the handsome, dark-haired man reached her. Royce King was about her own age, six feet tall and built like a tennis player. He clasped Aro's hand familiarly and looked her over with an insolent smirk. She lowered her eyes and found herself staring at his bare, hairless chest.

"Marie. Sounds so pure. Almost virginal," he drawled.

Bella flinched when she heard Mr. Cullen's derisive snort behind her. He slipped one arm around her waist, pulling her tight against his side. he didn't even acknowledge the younger man.

"Aro, you promised me lunch if I agreed to come outside."

"That I did! Come here, come here. Michael is already opening up the buffet. I'll get you a plate."

Bella felt like there were ants crawling beneath her skin as they followed the concierge to the bar area where a long table was loaded down with platters of antipasti and fresh fruit. There was something reptilian about Royce King's eyes. Flat, dark, practically dead.

Masen filled her plate alongside his own, then handed her both plates and directed her to a round, shaded table while he procured a drink. The middle-aged man that Aro had referred to as Michael was the same man who had met Aro and Edward Cullen in the girl's dayroom to discuss Edward's plans to purchase another girl. He sat down across from her, and his companion, a voluptuous girl in a fuchsia bikini and matching sarong, plopped down beside Bella, her enormous implants bouncing long after the rest of her had settled.

"Michael," Mr. Cullen greeted the other man simply.

"Edward, so glad you decided to join us. After a week like this one, it's good to relax and unwind."

"Hmmm." Cullen made a noncommittal sound around the rim of his glass.

"What do you have there? Vodka?"

"Water."

"Oh. Well, it is a hot day. Are you going to take a dip in the pool after lunch? Jessica loves to swim. Especially the backstroke, don't you, baby?" Michael prompted the girl beside him.

"Oh, I love swimming. It feels so good to get wet," she tittered, then sucked provocatively on a whole strawberry. Michael's mouth hung open as he watched her.

Bella set her fork down quietly, her stomach clenching rebelliously.

"Does Marie swim?" Michael asked Edward.

"Well, she doesn't sink."

Jessica snort-giggled and patted Bella on the knee beneath the table. "Don't worry, honey. I'll teach you. We can be friends. Finish your lunch, and I can give you a lesson today!"

Bella smiled hesitantly, then looked to Masen for approval. He rolled his eyes and nodded as if the antics of a bunch of silly girls were beneath his attention. Inside, Bella was rejoicing. Jessica was paired up with one of the Volturi's business managers. The girl probably knew more than most, and her vivacious attitude meant she wasn't likely to be tight-lipped. Bella picked at her food and tried to pick up as much as she could from the conversations around them.

Masen was deftly spinning the conversation around Michael, learning his full name, former occupation and hobbies within the first five minutes. There were several girls and male guests splashing in the pool. Aro was standing over by the bar with his hand near his mouth, talking into his watch again. Bella wondered who he was communicating with. Royce King and his friends were drinking beer and standing around in their swim trunks, occasionally taking turns doing fancy jumps off the diving board. The whole group burst out laughing when the heaviest guy in the group executed a perfect cannon ball, splashing water across the deck, even hitting Michael and Edward's table.

"Frat boys," Michael muttered beneath his breath.

"Tell me about them. They seem pretty comfortable. Are they friends of our host?"

"You've never heard of Teddy King?" Michael asked, looking scandalized.

"The name sounds vaguely familiar. Is he in coal?"

"Steel. Pennsylvania owes half their jobs to the King family. Teddy King has single-handedly revived a flagging industry. His whole life he's worked with engineers to create a culture of integrity and accountability within the industry. He pushed for universal standards for steel beam construction materials, with published minimums in tensile strength and load-bearing capacity for all cold-pressed steel products. With those standards in place, architects and engineers were finally confident enough to commit to steel. Now we're seeing a worldwide boom in the use of steel studs and beams, even in residential construction. The man's a legend. That's his youngest son, Royce."

"Spoilt rich kid," Edward grunted and popped a cube of cheese into his mouth followed by two green olives.

"Well, yeah. I guess so. Teddy doesn't quite know what to do with him. His older brothers all cut their teeth on steel. Royce there has a title within the company, something to do with marketing, I think, but he pretty much flies around the world spending the old man's money."

"Hmm."

"But he's a lot of fun."

"His entourage sure seems to think so," Edward said, doubtfully.

"Friends from school, I believe. The term ended a couple of weeks ago. They're working out the kinks before going back home to their parents."

"So Aro is stuck babysitting them?"

"Uuuuh," Michael got stuck on the sound, not agreeing, but unable to voice a dissenting opinion.

"That's what I thought. He must have the patience of Job."

"Job who?" Michael asked, looking lost.

"Never mind. I doubt you know him. Well, girls, go along and play," Cullen dismissed Jessica and Bella with a wave of his hand.

The girls stood up, and Jessica led Bella over to a lounge chair draped with wide, cotton towels.

"Ooh! Sunscreen! Marie, could you help? I can never seem to reach my whole back," Jessica simpered, arching her back and jutting out her breasts.

Bella balked, instinctively looking to her partner for guidance. When he nodded curtly, she accepted the tube of sunscreen that the other girl handed to her and squirted a small amount in her palm.

"Wait, do my front first. I got a burn a couple weeks ago. Mikey says I have to baby my skin." Jessica winked over at the older man, and he laughed indulgently.

Bella struggled to hide her revulsion. There was something so intimate about putting sunscreen on another person's skin. Michael was leaning back in his chair, seemingly relaxed, but his eyes were intent on Bella's hands, and his thick stomach was rising and falling rapidly with his shallow breaths. It was creepy to imagine applying lotion, or anything really, to somebody else's body with an audience.

"Well, Marie. What are you waiting for?" her master prompted her coldly.

"Nothing, sir," she stuttered.

Bella quelled her body's natural response and smoothed the lotion over both palms before applying it to Jessica's outstretched arms. She worked the thick cream into Jessica's legs next, avoiding the other girl's stomach and chest as long as possible. Jessica untied her top and dropped it on the ground between the two chairs.

With her hands shaking, Bella rushed through the rest of the task. Jessica's implants were so big that the skin was stretched as tight as a balloon, plastic and hard beneath her touch. They felt almost identical to the inflatable rubber balls that Bella was used to seeing on display in giant cages at the department store. Beneath the slave girl's breasts, two thick purple-pink scars marred her otherwise golden skin, marking the points where an amateur plastic surgeon had cut her open on two, possibly three, separate occasions.

"You don't have to be so gentle. They don't hurt. Actually, they don't feel anything at all anymore," Jessica said cheerily, lying back with her eyes closed.

"Oh. Well, that's good, I guess," Bella replied lamely.

Jessica turned over on the lounge chair and Bella finished applying the lotion. She set the tube down, but the other girl snatched it up.

"Come on, sweetie. Your turn. You have such fair skin."

"I really don't think-" Bella started to object.

"Don't be silly, Marie. If you burn, you'll peel all over my bed. Disgusting."

Bella's eyes widened. A niggling voice in the back of her head cried out in rebellion, but Marie was in charge. She stifled her objections and took Jessica's place on the towel. Michael watched hungrily as his girl ran her fingers slowly and sensuously up and down Bella's arms and legs.

"They are beautiful together. Have you ever considered-"

"No," Edward cut him off coldly.

"I'm just saying it would be-"

"No. I don't share. Ever."

"Right. Well, maybe later. After you find a suitable replacement. I've already started looking, but your list of criteria is pretty specific. Such a unique combination. I think that maybe you set me up to dig for that proverbial needle in the haystack."

"Is it so difficult to find a woman who is both bright and beautiful?"

"In our line of work? No. But you want more than that. You asked for a girl who is practically an aristocrat. We don't get that type. Needy, depressed druggies, lost souls searching for someone to take care of them. Then there are the aspiring actresses and models who are starting to realize that every school in the country has a prom queen, and that means a lot of competition once they leave their little ponds. A few disappointments and they are ripe for the picking. But none of them have the confidence or presence you've been describing. Zafrina is proud, but apart from that she is hardly your type."

"The Amazon?"

They both looked across the pool to the place where Zafrina sat, her knees together and her back rigid.

"Yes. That one. Practically unbreakable. The boys pay extra to try. She. . . well, she is something special."

"Teach her to drop the accent. And do something about that hideous mop of hair."

"Well, I don't know if that's even poss-"

"Hmm.

"We'll find someone. I promise," Michael assured the newcomer, eager to prove the Volturi's resourcefulness.

"Let me add one more thing. I want her unharmed. In perfect condition. In fact, I want her to believe she is allying herself with me voluntarily. It will make the moment when she realizes the truth that much sweeter."

"I. . . I don't think I understand," Michael stammered.

"Ooooh, but I do," Aro cut in, sidling up to the pair. "I think I know exactly what you want. But why do you have such narrow criteria? It's almost as if you want us to fail! Are you certain it's a lady you're looking for? We procure more than just girls," he added in a leading tone.

"I know what I like," Mr. Cullen said in a clipped tone.

"Are you sure? We don't have one now, put last year we had the most delicate, beautiful little Ganymede. Are you positive you wouldn't want a sweet-mouthed little boy to help you out around the house when your dark-haired darling is indisposed?"

"Do I look like a fag to you?"

"Oh, no, honey. You certainly don't," Aro purred. With a thoughtful pout he asked Masen, "Do I look like a fag to you?"

"Yes," Masen replied in a bland tone.

"Touche! Ha ha! You are so droll. I would just love to keep you here. What's so important that you are always hurrying and scurrying? You need to relax. Have fun. Enjoy everything that the Palazza Volturi has to offer!"

"I'll relax and have fun once I know I've got a roof over my head and I know that I'm collecting a paycheck next month. I'm not ready to retire yet."

"Well, at least try and have fun today. Mr. Volturi likes to know that his guests are enjoying his hospitality." Aro tilted his head meaningfully and rolled his eyes up toward the top floor of the mansion.

Bella followed the direction of Aro's gesture. The third floor windows were tinted against the sun's glare, but a dark shadow was visible behind the glass, looking down on the poolside party. She shivered despite the heat.

Her partner never looked up. He just put his hands in his pockets and shrugged, "Tell him thank you for lunch. I'm not going to prance about and shout, but I did enjoy it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sit in the shade and enjoy the view."

Bella allowed Jessica to pull her into the water where she pretended to be unable to swim. Doggy paddling was exhausting. The steel tycoon's youngest son was watching her, no light reflecting off his dilated pupils. Finally she realized what she had been too scared to see before. Royce King and his buddies were high, amped and looking for a new source of entertainment. It seemed as if she was the new challenge.


	45. Chapter 45

_Oh, Christmas... I love the holidays. I truly do. Now if only I could have the holidays without the drama! Who's with me?_

_Well, the kids are back in school, my house no longer looks like a pigsty strung with colored lights, and I think I've recovered from the emotional roller coaster. Sort of. Let's get back to it, shall we?_

_One other thing, On The Line was featured on The Lemonade Stand last week. Thanks, ladies! And welcome to any new readers. The more the merrier!_

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They remained poolside for almost two hours. As the persistently cheerful Jessica taught Marie how to do more than 'not sink', the other Volturi captives entertained their owner's guests. Victoria, easy to spot with her brilliant mane of fiery curls and shimmering silver bikini, held court in the hot tub, her brazen laughter ringing out every few minutes.

Bella didn't see Mary Alice or her sadistic owner James the entire time. However, the tiny blonde girl did appear as the buffet was being cleared away. With tiny, prancing steps, she made her way straight to the Aro, curling up like a puppy against his side as he lounged on a padded bench a few paces away from where Michael and Edward Cullen sat talking. He was sipping a pink, blended drink through a yellow straw that matched the hibiscus flowers on his shirt.

The party broke up gradually, and Bella watched in confusion as her partner, Michael and Aro wandered into the the building without looking back or telling them what to do. Jessica looped her arm through the new girl's, tugging her along behind the men.

"We have some free time to shower and relax before we have to dress for the evening. Do you like television?"

"Uhhh," Bella responded in confusion.

"I love television. It's like there's a whole world behind that little screen. It's better than a window, because when you look through it, you see something different every day."

Bella's steps faltered as she felt a wave of sadness flood her chest. Jessica couldn't be more than twenty years old, but she sounded as if her expectations for a future were non-existent. Her outlook was so simple, as if her life view had narrowed to fit within the constraints of her captivity, and she was okay with that.

They showered side-by-side, Jessica chattering away about how much she loved the gardenia-scented shampoo Michael had bought for her. Bella hadn't brought fresh clothes with her, but she rinsed out her bikini and put it back on, covering up with a short, black robe that Jessica found for her.

In the day room, Jessica pulled a few cushions off a sofa and tossed them on the floor in front of the television, beckoning Bella to join her. There was a nature documentary playing, showing tiny rodents preparing for winter in the northeastern states. Jessica talked on, sometimes exclaiming over the show, sometimes asking the new girl inane questions while she combed out her damp hair. Once she finished her own, she began on Bella's, efficiently working out the tangles from their swimming session.

Bella let her talk, hoping Jessica would give her an opening to ask about the Volturi, Michael in particular. Masen had taken a special interest in the man and was actively cultivating the relationship. As she had from the beginning, Bella was following his lead.

The petite blonde girl entered the dayroom soon after they sat down and collapsed on the floor in a corner, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her forehead against them.

"Who is she?" Bella asked quietly, interrupting Jessica's complaint about split ends.

"Oh, that's Jane."

"She's so tiny. How old is she?"

"Fifteen, sixteen, something like that. She and her brother were here before me."

"She has a brother?" Bella asked, looking around. She didn't recall seeing any young men out by the pool or at the dinner party. Unless he was one of the waiters.

"Had. They found Alec's body in the pool a few days after I got here. The guards said he must have been drunk and slipped on the tiles. Jane hasn't said a word since. She's creepy. Nobody really pays attention to her except Aro."

"What do you mean by creepy?"

"Her eyes," Jessica whispered dramatically. "She looks at you as if she can see your insides."

Jane's bony shoulder stayed hunched, but Bella thought she saw a glimpse of pale blue eyes peering over the knobbly knees. Shivering, she turned her attention back to the television.

There was another girl sitting nearby. She had sandy-blonde hair cut in an asymmetric bob, and she was singing in a slightly breathy voice. He voice was so quiet and slightly off key. Between Jessica's chirping voice and the narrator from the television, it took Bella several minutes to recognize the song.

"Hush li'l ba-beee… Hush li'l ba-b-b-bee... Don't say no words…"

Bella looked over at the girl who sat near the window, wrapped in a blanket, despite the heat. She rocked a little as she sang, her fingers clenched around a small object, stroking and rubbing it fitfully.

Jessica noticed Bella's distraction and nudged her with the back of the hairbrush. "Ignore her. Meg's gonna be going on like that for a few days."

"What's wrong with her?" Bella wondered out loud.

"Doc had to get rid of another baby. Fourth time, I think. For some reason the shot doesn't work on her like it does for the rest of the girls. She tried to hide it this time, but one of the clients complained that the boss gave him a fatty and he didn't wanna pay. They figured it out pretty fast then. She'll be moaning and whining for days. But as least she doesn't have to work for a week. Lucky."

Bella felt her lips turn numb with horror. It made sense, of course. The Volturi didn't hesitate to kill anyone who stood in the way of their profits. Why would they balk at performing an illegal abortion? A pregnant whore wasn't going to fit their upscale image. But looking at the shattered girl by the window, her heart shivered and fractured a little further. As Meg's hands twisted, Bella finally made out what she clutched in her hands. It was a stained dinner napkin, tied and twisted into the rough shape of a doll.

Her eyes were watering as she asked for more details. "Don't they have to wear condoms?"

"Of course they 'have to', but that doesn't mean everyone does. Who would know, right? It's not like any of us would dare tell on them. And some pay extra to go without."

"But she gets a week off to recover?" she confirmed. Just a week? Bella felt a horrible ache deep in her belly. A week wasn't enough time to heal the physical wounds. A lifetime wouldn't be long enough to her the psychological ones.

"Yep. Doc says it's to avoid infection, so the boss agrees. Last year a girl got real sick. She'd just got her boobs done and something went wrong. She was moaning and screaming all day and night. Her face got all red and puffy, and she wouldn't shut up no matter what the guard said or did. Doc had just left on a trip, so she went on and on for five days. It was so annoying. None of us could relax. It was such a relief when Doc got back to take care of her."

"Wow. I guess it would have been pretty awful. Did she get better? What happened to her?" Bella asked, driven by genuine curiosity.

Jessica looked at her with one eyebrow raised in disbelief. "I don't know. They got rid of her."

Bella felt sick and excused herself to the bathroom. With the ocean outside the windows and more than five acres of land behind the high walls, disposing of a body was child's play. There were no doors to the stalls, but she sought privacy in the furthest one and crouched over the toilet, expecting her stomach to empty itself any second. She gagged and heaved, but nothing came up except tears. Finally, wiping her eyes viciously with a wad of toilet paper, Bella flushed and went to wash her hands at the sink.

Victoria was leaning against the doorframe, watching her with one hand on her curvy hip.

"Hey, new girl. Marie, right? All the boys are quite taken with you, wondering when Mr. Cullen is going to name your price. What's your secret?" There was an edge of jealousy and something more in the tall redhead's voice.

"Secret?" Bella asked, her voice quavering slightly.

"You know. How does a nobody like you catch the eye of someone like Edward Cullen. He seems like he's the kind of man who would want someone more. . . well, more."

"Oh. Well, I don't think he actually likes me. I irritate him. I try not to, but I. . . I don't know. . ." she trailed off, her voice raspy with tears.

"You obviously don't try very hard. You looked pathetic today, paddling and gasping like a little bitch. I almost expected you to start hanging your tongue out the way you were panting. If you didn't have that body, you wouldn't last a day here."

Bella wasn't sure how to take Victoria's version of a compliment. She shrugged uncomfortably, blotting her face with a damp towel. "I don't know. How long have you been stuck here?"

"Whoever said I was stuck?" Victoria asked with a scornful laugh.

"Well, I mean. . . I just assumed. . . you aren't here by choice."

"Darling, everybody is here by choice," the taller woman said with a sly smile, striding closer to check her reflection in the gilt mirror.

"Not me!" Bella protested, her voice shrill and anxious.

"Then leave."

"But, I can't! There are guards. . . the gate. . . Mr. Cullen. . . He'd beat me!"

"Silly child. You're not trapped. You can leave any time you like." With a taunting smirk, she opened one of Zafrina's hair-cutting shears and mimed slicing her arm open from her wrist to the inside of her elbow. Then she set it down in front of Bella. "If you have the guts, that is. But I don't believe you do. You're a sniveling coward. A weakling. I'm surprised Mr. Cullen wasted a penny on you."

Bella looked down with horror on the sharp-edge steel. How many boys and girls had committed suicide rather than face another day in this hell? And, considering the value the Volturi placed on their captives, why did they allow it? To keep the other prisoners cowed? Was there really such a surplus of fresh victims to pull from?

Bella considered how Victoria acted. She embraced her role, acting like a queen. She was the obvious favorite of several Volturi customers, but did she actually have any power? Any influence? How long could she continue as a willing Volturi concubine before her star sank into retrograde, before her looks faded and men began to pass over her for someone younger, fresher, more pliable. Her prima donna act had gotten her this far, but now the only place to go was down.

"So you. . . you actually like being here?" Bella asked doubtfully.

"Of course I do. I received my invitation about a year ago. I haven't regretted accepting it. Not once. It's a hard life out there on the streets. Learn how to play the game, Marie. Grow a backbone. You might live long enough to realize how lucky you are." She smacked her lips, ran a finger along her eyeliner and left Bella to her jumbled thoughts.

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_As always, thanks for reading!_


	46. Chapter 46

_A/N: When you get this far into a story, you kind of get to know the readers who review, and you look forward to their thoughts with every update. With each new chapter, a handful of unfamiliar names appear, and you feel good knowing that new readers are finding and enjoying the story. Once in a while, a new reader starts reading straight through, but actually pauses after each chapter and takes the time to share a couple words before clicking 'next'. It probably sounds like no big deal, but it is a REALLY big deal. This has happened to me a few times in recent months. You know who you are. Thank you. This extra long chapter is for you._

* * *

When Mr. Cullen finally returned to collect his charge, Bella was tuning her surroundings out just to remain sane. There were more than a dozen girls in the day room and adjoining rooms, bathing, fixing their hair, dressing for the evening poker party. Some were giggling and chasing each other around like girls at a slumber party. Others were going through the motions, eyes vacant and limbs as lethargic as zombies. Through it all, Zafrina was a stoic force, politely responding to the others girls' requests for assistance with their hair, throwing a few stitches into a torn seam or touching up chipped nail polish.

Bella lept to her feet when she saw Masen enter the room. She hoped it looked like panicked obedience rather than the reality; that she was eager to escape the surreal atmosphere of the dayroom. She felt Jane's misty blue eyes on her as she followed Masen from the room.

That was one lead worth following up on. Knowing Jane's approximate age and the existence of a fraternal twin were key to identifying two more victims of the Volturi's trafficking activities. She was creating a list in her head of all the details she needed to share with Masen as soon as she had another opportunity. But first, they had to make it through another Volturi gathering.

If she had doubted the extent of their room's soundproofing, it was amply clear when Masen unlocked and opened the door. A horn-heavy symphony was playing so loudly through the entertainment system that conversation was impossible, yet she had barely heard the muffled thump of the tympani through the thick oak door.

Masen had already chosen her outfit for the night and laid it out across the bed. As she changed, Bella discovered a slip of paper hidden in the folds of the cocktail dress.

_Possible ears, but no eyes. BB 1,2,3 in play. Watch your step._

Bella found herself breathing more easily than she had in days. Masen had completed his sweep of the room and found no evidence of video surveillance. Audio monitoring was easier to hide and much harder to detect, the most likely places being the ventilation, lighting or entertainment center. He had placed three cameras of their own: Big Brother 1, 2 and 3. Based on the expectation that the Volturi could access their room at any time during their stay, perhaps even plant cameras after they were comfortable and complacent, Masen had hidden their own devices in suboptimal locations. They didn't need to collect intelligence in their own room, they just needed to ascertain if anyone else was attempting to do so. Bella scanned the room quickly with her eyes, trying to guess where, at ground level, Masen would have chosen to install cameras.

The first one was almost certainly beneath the bed frame, facing the door. The angle wasn't ideal, but the motion-activated device would record anyone entering the room and alert Masen via his phone. As for the second and third cameras, she was hard-pressed to choose spots that would offer adequate cover for the camera and power supply, while still giving them a useful vantage point. _Watch your step_. . . Well, she would do as she was told. She didn't want to put one of her stiletto heels through a camera lens. Masen would probably mock her for it the moment they were alone and unmonitored.

The loud music made sense now. Masen had been prepared for this from the start, loading Edward Cullen's playlist with composers known for their concussive sound, playing music uncomfortably loud in the car and in their hotel suite at The Breakers, blending layers of anti-surveillance tactics into his cover identity's personality before they had even left D.C. The depth of his forethought and planning was humbling her all over again.

Bella felt hopeful for the first time since they had arrived in this hellhole. She felt proud of how seamlessly they had transitioned, too. Just as she had hoped, Marie was able to ask questions and learn details that Edward Cullen never could. The millionaire and the slave. . . they had the Volturi in an invisible pincer maneuver, and with the right timing, they could sever the head from the body, taking the entire organization down.

When Masen beckoned to her, leash in hand, she didn't hesitate to join him, holding her hair aside so that he could fasten the leash to her head of the snake. They were supposed to meet him that evening. She couldn't wait to match a face to the name. She couldn't wait to identify the monster that took pleasure in destroying boys and girls for profit. It was time for them to build the case that would defang the beast once and for all and make Mr. Volturi pay for his abhorrent crimes.

The party was held in the room that Aro referred to as the library, although there was far more space devoted to artwork than books. An eclectic collection of sofas and loveseats were scattered throughout the room, each one a work of art itself. Tuxedo-clad waiter made the rounds proffering fancy finger foods and champagne on silver platters. Bella took the glass and plate that Masen thrust into her hands, nibbling at the food as he exchanged greetings with the other guests in Edward Cullen's cold, condescending voice.

Bella recognized almost every man and slave girl present. A bartender was busy in the corner, filling half a dozen tumblers with ice, rum and coke for Royce King's crew. By their posture and voices Bella could see they were sober again, but their leader seemed intent on remedying that situation.

"Youth really is wasted on the young," an older gentleman said morosely, appearing at her elbow.

"Yes, sir," she replied dutifully.

"You disagree?" he asked with a curious smile on his thin lips.

Bella shrugged. Marie didn't offer her opinions. She agreed. She obeyed. That was her role.

"Ah, well. We all play our part. They are the drunken buffoons. On the other hand, your master there," he continued, nodding toward Mr. Cullen's stiff back and shoulders, "he is the master of control and self-discipline. I am the too-tolerant grandfather figure, and you, my dear, you are the dormouse. Nobody thinks they want a dormouse until they meet one. They are such timid, delicate, lovely little creatures." The man sighed and shook his head.

Bella raised her eyes and really looked at him, made bolder by his gentle air and casual conversation. The man was quite tall, with narrow, slightly stooped shoulders and long limbs. He had thick black hair, a youthful trait that seemed at odds with his lined and weathered face.

His faded brown eyes met hers, and he smiled kindly. "Pardon me, I am Marcus. You must be Marie. Young Aro has told me all about you. I must say, it would be an honor to accept you into my flock of darling little chicks."

Bella's face froze, a half-formed smile shivering on the brink of collapse. This. . . this grandfatherly man was Mr. Volturi? Impossible! He didn't seem at all like a villain. He was as out of place in that room as she was! Her shock must have registered on her face, because Marcus gave her a small nod of acknowledgement and shambled over to greet another knot of guests.

Feeling dizzy and weak, Bella sat abruptly on the nearest seat, a leather-clad ottoman. Masen's eyes darted to her for a fraction of a second, but he didn't interrupt his delivery of a particularly self-congratulatory anecdote that he was sharing with Michael Newton and three other male guests. Bella finished her champagne in three burning gulps, then worked to make herself as invisible as possible.

Fresh food and drinks continued to pour through the double doors, and the Volturi guests rapidly spiraled into the now-familiar circus of loud voices and ribald behavior. James was leaning against a bookcase, a champagne flute in one hand and Mary Alice's battered leash in the other. He was dressed in a clean, but ill-fitting tuxedo. The girl who knelt at his feet was wearing a tight sheath dress that only accented her emaciated state.

Bella wished that they were closer so she could listen to the conversation and get a better idea of Alice's condition. She set her empty plate and glass onto the closest table and took two small steps before she ran out of slack in the leash. If only Masen could read her mind, she could tell him take her closer to her target.

She needn't have bothered. James didn't wait long to confront Mr. Cullen again. He ambled across the room, his destination made obvious by the way he glared at the newcomer.

"Still feeding your bitch more than she deserves, I see. Do you share everything with her?" James taunted, sidling up to the small group with a sneer.

"Only that which amuses me," the taller man responded, slipping back into his narrative with barely a pause.

"Maybe we have more in common than I first thought," James cut in again. "We both invest in our own entertainment." With an indolent flick of his wrist, the slaver tossed a tightly-wrapped plastic bundle onto a cocktail table. He opened his wallet and pulled out a dollar bill and a rusty razor blade. "The big difference between us is that I'm actually generous. I share for the good of the many." His altruistic words came out more like a challenge or a threat.

One of Royce's lackeys saw the plastic-wrapped bundle and let out a whoop of excitement. He rushed over as James unwrapped and poured out a pile of white powder. James used the old blade to cut away a sizable portion, scraping it into a thick line. Bella cringed as the blade screeched across the table, flakes of rust and varnish intermixing with the drug.

"Whadya say, Mr. Cullen? Take the first line on the house?"

Bella looked at Masen with alarm. How was he going to handle what amounted to a frat house dare? Drunken men were crowding round, cheering and shouting, offering to take the first share if he passed.

Mr. Cullen's mask of indifference was unaffected. He raised one eyebrow and smirked. "I am no more inclined to be a guinea pig in your chemistry experiment than I am to visit your tailor. I'll pass." He turned his back on James and resumed talking.

James' lips turned white, then blood rushed to his face as his anger grew. "Oh, well excuse me. I didn't realize that your body was such a temple. Manicures and colonics, huh? But you can't simply chill out and have fun with the boys. I'm not sure I trust a man who can't ev-"

Mr. Cullen spun back around, the hatred and disdain in his eyes silencing his antagonist. "Yes, I take care of myself. It's a damn sight harder to operate a business from a box in the ground than from where I stand. Snorting Borax and baking soda doesn't really fit into that equation, does it? Even so, I take pleasure in a great many things. You yammer on and on about sharing your cheap shit as if we should all praise your magnanimous nature. You are a worm and a cretin. But I'll let it slide. Again. In fact, I'll go so far as to share with _you_. You could use a little education about the finer things in life."

Masen reached into his jacket and pulled out a suede pouch. He swept the pile of heavily cut cocaine aside, flinging a cloud of white powder across the pants of the closest men. With an impatient huff, he blew the table clean and unrolled the supple leather. Inside was an engraved silver vial, about one inch in diameter and six inches tall. He unscrewed the top and poured out a small amount of fine powder. Bella stepped closer. Her jaw dropped. It was actually tinged pink, a characteristic of certain high-quality Peruvian cocaine associated with the kerosene used during the extraction process. Would he really snort cocaine to keep his cover intact?

Remembering her role, Bella inched aside as other men moved closer. Her partner, moving with the same swift assurance that he demonstrated while loading a gun or tying a knot, produced a small, flat-edged tool and cut away two much smaller portions. Then he opened his money clip and pulled out a crisp one hundred dollar bill, expertly rolled it into a narrow straw and held it against his right nostril.

"What? You're not gonna share with your pampered little whore?" James scoffed.

Poised with his head and shoulders over the table, Mr. Cullen raised both eyebrows. "Don't be silly. I may as well use Almas as bait. Waste not, want not."

With that, he briskly inhaled the first line. He stood up tall, and with his eyes closed and head tilted back, seemed to revel in the rush as the drug was swiftly absorbed through the thin lining of his nostril and sinuses. Bella was terrified of how it would affect him, but thoroughly relieved that he had excluded her from the demonstration. She added a few more marks to the 'Agent Masen's quick-thinking score sheet' she kept in her head.

"Mmmmmnnnn," he groaned, a sound that projected intense pleasure and a surge of masculine energy.

The crowd was silent, their eyes greedily flicking between the man and his stash. When Edward finally opened his eyes again, the pupils were so large that they almost completely swallowed the green of his irises. His nostrils flared as he sucked in another breath. Then he smiled, a small twist of his lips at the corners, a devilish invitation for James to take his counter-challenge or shut the fuck up.

For a moment Bella believed that James' pride would win out, but the addict's attention drifted unerringly back to the thin line of powder. With a sneer of his own, James used his own battered bill to snort up the second dose, stood up suddenly, then staggered back a step into the arms of a laughing onlooker.

When they saw how immediate and intense the high was, they started clamoring for a turn. Edward emptied the rest of the tube onto the table, returned the tube and cutter to their pouch, tucked it into his jacket and handed the rolled bill to the man on his left. Then, as cool and controlled as if he hadn't just ingested a couple hundred milligrams of cocaine, he turned back to the shell-shocked men behind him and continued with his story.

Bella looked around the room, taking note of other people's reactions. Zafrina has a look of disgust on her face as she watched the rabble falling into a bumbling line. Aro was standing near the entrance, conversing with a tall, thickly built man, presumably a senior guard. As he spoke, his eyes were constantly moving, measuring and assessing the crowd, just as Bella was. She looked away quickly, next settling on Marcus Volturi. The old man sat in a wide armchair, a thick, leather-bound book open across his lap. He looked as if he was completely oblivious to the pissing match that had just taken place twenty feet from where he sat.

Victoria was hanging back, the fingertips of her right hand tapping fitfully at her lower lip. Her eyes were trained on the dwindling pile, hungry and desperate. Bella felt an unwelcome surge of pity for the hard-hearted woman. How much had her addictions controlled her decision to accept the Volturi's invitation? And how much of her hostility was driven by her survival instincts? They were questions that she didn't have the luxury to explore. Victoria had already identified Marie as a threat. She wouldn't find any willing assistance from that quarter.

Bella's musings were interrupted by another loud cheer as the doors opened, admitting two more guests. He stomach dropped when she recognized Delancy and Gibbs. Delancy looked around the room, quickly finding his client and Bella. Bella busied herself with examining the intricately woven carpet as the pair joined Masen's circle, loudly congratulating him on his newly accepted offer. Well, that was another part of the plan moving forward more smoothly than they could have hoped.

Aro allowed the party to continue on in the same vein for another twenty minutes before he climbed up onto the seat of a chair and clapped his hands loudly.

"Boys, boys, gather around. Gather around. Closer. . . Closer. Ooh! Not that close," he giggled as one of Royce's buddies stumbled drunkenly against his legs. "It's time to ante up! We have two tables tonight. If you want to sit at the grown up table, show me the money! Ten big ones to play with our illustrious host, Mr. Marcus Volturi. Actually, while I have your attention, please give a big round of applause to thank him for bringing us all together tonight!"

Aro led the cheering, bouncing on the chair and clapping his hands. Bella had to look away to stop herself from smiling at the absurd, childish image he presented. Marcus slipped a bookmark between the pages of his tome and stood, accepting the cheers with a raised hand and a couple of nods.

"So, who is going to bring me some moolah?" Aro continued when the noise settled, beckoning with both hands, his long, narrow fingers curling and uncurling like tentacles.

Edward Cullen was the first to respond, pulling a bank-wrapped stack of bills from his pocket and tossing it to Aro. Four other men followed suit, including Michael, Royce and, surprisingly, James. Bella wondered where he found the money. By all appearances, James couldn't compete with the other men in looks, style or intelligence, but he was here in the mansion, had his own girl, and was throwing cash and drugs around like he had plenty of both to spare.

"Is that all? Well. . . Fine, then. Who's sitting at the kiddie table? Just one grand to play. Come on, boys. Let's make it fun. . ." Aro looked around expectantly, but nobody else seemed willing to step forward. "Aw, phooey. Well, the rest of you boys do what you like. We're going to catch us some Texans and hold-em tight! Yee-haw! You know what they say, everything's bigger in Texas!" he chortled.

"Shut up, you flamer!" one of Royce's buddies called out, before being shoved into a corner and hushed by his friends.

Bella looked back at Aro, expecting him to look angry. Instead, he was doubled over, giggling. He suddenly popped back up, stuck out his tongue, then turned his back on the frat boys. There was a roar of surprise when he dropped his pants a few inches to show the tops of his ass cheeks and wiggled his hips suggestively. She shot a surprised look at Masen, but he was watching the juvenile exchange with an amused look on his face.

Marcus trundled through the chaos, unflinching, and settled regally into a seat at the large, felt-covered table immediately to the left of the dealer. The other players trickled over, still distracted by Aro's antics. Michael lowered his heavy frame into the seat beside Marcus, giving the older gentleman a respectful nod before pulling his pile of chips closer. Royce took the next seat, followed by James, then a red-haired man with long sideburns, wearing a blue seersucker suit over a pale green shirt that stood out from the dark colors worn by the rest of the guests. Bella noticed a faint Irish accent as he introduced himself around the table as Sean Allen. Masen took the final seat to the right of the dealer, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat.

Realizing that the game was set to begin, Aro jogged after them. He deposited the pile of cash in front of the dealer and patted him on the shoulder. The stern-faced man was in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a beak-like nose. He gave a terse nod of thanks then gestured for Mr. Volturi to place the small blind. Michael followed with the big blind, and dealing commenced.

Aro found a chair nearby, and Jane appeared beside him almost instantly, silently clambering into his lap, her face hidden by the fall of her short blond hair. He gently stroked the back of her head where it rested under his chin, and leaned back with a small smile.

Bella let out a surprised squeak when Masen tugged on her leash and pulled her across his own lap. His arms held her too tightly, crushing her against his chest. Up close, she could feel the tension in his muscles. She could see the way his eyes quivered and darted about, the cocaine still constricting his blood vessels and making his heart thud against her shoulder. Was he keeping her close because he was struggling with the effects of the drug, or because she had done something risky? Was she acting too independent? Did she need to skulk and sulk more? What would Marie do if forced to sit on her owner's lap while he played high-stakes poker?

There wasn't anything in the playbook for this. She didn't even know the rules of the game. She couldn't do anything to help him win, but she could observe the other players, and from where she sat, she could watch Aro and Jane. Bella sunk back against his hard shoulder and looked around the table, biting her lip and scratching at her upper arm as if she was allergic to the intensity of the game.

Off to her right, Aro was watching the first round of bidding from beneath lowered eyelids. He exchanged a few questions and answers through his comm device and continued stroking Jane's head and shoulders. Bella was struck again by the image of Jane as an oversized cat, cool and disinterested toward everyone other than her preferred human. And, like a cat, she seemed to have a calming effect on the flamboyant affectations of the Volturi major domo.

For the first several hands, Bella just took it all in, trying to remember the rankings of the different winning poker hands, trying to keep track of the order of play, the betting and the ways the different players responded to the cards they were dealt. Masen folded early in the first game, before the river round in the second, and lost with three jacks against Royce King's full house in the third game.

Most of the other guests had taken up posts around the table to watch the chips changing hands, but as the players hunkered down for a long night, some of the other men approached Aro to check in before leaving the room with one of the girls. Gibbs and Delancy stuck around longer than most, but Delancy seemed to get more and more antsy the longer the night dragged on. He kept turning to his friend, nudging and cajoling the younger man incessantly. Bella saw William Gibbs finally agree in a slurred voice, blushing and laughing as Delancy dragged him around the table by his collar.

They went up to Aro together, and Bella strained to hear what they were saying over the cheers and taunts that flew around the table. Masen had folded yet again. His chips were dwindling quickly. He was down to half of what he had started the night with. Royce was leading, his cocky smile just growing bigger as James spat out his disgust at Mr. Cullen's most recent 'cowardly' move.

Aro called Zafrina over, and Bella turned her head back to see what was happening. Zafrina held her chin high as she got up from her chair. Her braids swung around her broad shoulders, the beaded ends clinking together. Her red-orange dress wrapped flame-like around her throat, breasts and powerful thighs, but left her stomach bare, showing off her tightly-muscled abdomen. She was every inch the Amazonian princess.

Delancy's eyes were bright and greedy as he watched her approach, and Bella had a sick feeling inside. After giving Zafrina some carefully-worded instructions, Aro waved the two men and the captive from the room with an admonishment to 'have fun, but not too much fun', gesturing hurriedly for one of the silent guards near the door to follow them.

Zafrina looked back just as she reached the door, catching Bella's gaze. There was something determined and hard in her look, something indomitable and proud about the way her eyes flashed as they locked with Bella's. With a certainty she could not explain, Bella knew that something terrible was going to happen tonight. She remembered the feeling of sick dread she had experienced the first time she realized what sort of man Malcolm Delancy really was. A coward and a sadist. . . a deadly combination for any woman under his power.

Bella shivered, the feeling of impending doom sending prickles of fear like tiny frozen barbs down her spine. Masen's hand closed over her knee, warning her to be still. With a burning in her throat and tears in her eyes, she turned her attention back to the game.

Finally it was Edward Cullen's turn to lead the bets. He dropped fifty dollars of chips on the table for the small blind and waited for his two cards. Just as he had done with every previous hand, he took one look at his cards, placed them face down on the table and left them there for the rest of the round. Every other player, excepting Mr. Volturi, checked their cards periodically, as if to verify they hadn't magically turned into something better as the dealer laid out the community cards.

Masen's character played with an otherworldly calm, as if he didn't care whether he won or lost. And maybe he didn't, Bella mused. After all, it wasn't his money. Masen was investing ten thousand dollars of federal money to sit at the same table as a master criminal and learn as much about the man as he could. The government had been known to pay a lot more for a lot less.

Bella sensed a sort of hum around both Sean Allen and James. Masen had been dealt the two and five of spades. The flop turned up a three of diamonds and the king and queen of spades. With two face cards of the same suit on the table, everyone seemed to sit a little straighter. The audience leaned in a little closer.

Masen checked on the next round of bidding, only throwing enough chips on the table to stay in the game after James raised the bid another two hundred dollars. The turn produced an ace of clubs, and everyone seemed to hold their breath, waiting for Masen's bid. He flipped a five hundred dollar chip between his fingers, but he did it so casually that nobody could tell if he was actually considering betting it, or just fidgeting mindlessly as he considered his odds. Bella wondered who else at the table held two spades in their hand. With one community card left, he had a one in four chance of a flush. Or maybe someone was holding a ten or a jack. . . or both.

The hands thus far had been pretty anticlimactic, with Royce taking this biggest pot of the night on a full house. Now, both Sean and James were driving the bids higher with every round, and the winner stood to take more than three grand with a single hand. Masen set the chip back in his stack and tossed a one hundred dollar chip on the felt before him, looking past the dealer to Mr. Volturi. The man tilted his head an inch to the left before folding.

The crowd sighed and waited for Michael's move. He pushed another hundred onto the mat, but he didn't look confident about it. Royce immediately raised it to five hundred, garnering a whoop and applause from the men who had clustered behind his chair. James belligerently raised it another five hundred, sending the crowd into a frenzy. A few seconds later, Sean raised it to $2000 and Michael turned a little gray. He had lost more than he had won, and was floating at eight thousand. The business manager-turner gambler looked across to Edward Cullen, evidently basing his response on Edward's reaction.

Normally at this point, Mr. Cullen folded, letting the big three duke it out for the pot. This time, he looked slowly around the table then carefully counted out two thousand, four hundred in chips, bringing his total bid to $2,500. Silence. Most players would have watched the others carefully, waiting to see who took the bait and who folded. Edward Cullen just turned his attention to the girl in his lap, running his hands into her hair and pulling her face against his for a bruising kiss.

Bella's mind was racing as she told her body to stiffen and lean away from the unwanted demonstration of sexual dominance. Was Masen throwing money away on purpose? Did he really want to risk half of his remaining chips on a 25% chance? There was blood rushing in her ears and burning her scalp as she tried to understand Masen's game.

When he released her and looked up at the table, Michael and Royce had folded, leaving James, Sean and Edward in the game. The dealer turned the river card, and the room seemed to deflate. A four of hearts. That eliminated the flush. Bella ran back through what little she knew of cards, trying to guess what cards the other two could have to spur the bidding frenzy.

Mr. Cullen's final bid was a measly $500. After his recent show of confidence, the audience grumbled and whispered. Bella saw Marcus smile slowly, and she wondered what he was thinking. Jessica stood behind Michael, massaging his shoulders as he looked around the table. Royce was leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head, obviously waiting to see who would pass him as the leader.

And James. . . he was shaking, his eyes fixated on the offending card. He folded with trembling hands and called for a whiskey, straight up.

Sean looked at Edward with a cold and searching stare. He could call, raise or fold. His fingers floated over his chips, brushing the clay disks as if asking them to decide which ones would join the pot. Finally, he tossed $500 onto the felt and turned his cards face up. A pair of aces gave him three-of-a-kind.

When Mr. Cullen didn't respond immediately, a slow smile formed on his lips, his teeth, yellow and crooked, peeking out from between them. Edward's expression never changed as he flipped over his cards, and Bella finally realized that he had been betting, not on the short odds of a flush, but on the longer odds of a straight. Ace, two, three, four, five. The room hung on an inhalation of air, then burst into applause as the dealer pushed more than $10,000 of chips in front the winner.

_Then_ he grinned, teeth straight, white and feral.

In the commotion, Bella almost missed the way Aro's face turned white as he held one hand flat against his earpiece. He hastily pushed Jane aside and ran for the door, opening it just as William Gibbs staggered against the door frame, his white shirt soaked in blood.

"Help! She cut me bad! And she stabbed Malcolm, stabbed him right through the throat. The psycho bitch killed Malcolm!" William gasped, then collapsed.

* * *

_Oh darn, Malcolm Delancy is dead. Raise your hand if you only wish I had killed him off sooner!_

_For the curious: Yes, I did google cocaine multiple times. I wonder what Big Brother thinks of that. And Almas is a brand of white beluga caviar that runs at over $1,000/lb. Just because Masen despises caviar, it doesn't mean he doesn't know his shit. *winks*_


	47. Chapter 47

My dearest readers,

It's been a long time. Too long. Thank you all for your patience as I have been working through some very difficult times. I can't say life as a whole has improved, although in some areas it has... _significantly_... but I think I have a better handle on things at last, and I'm finally carving out time to write again. Love and gratitude go out to my soul sisters, Ankita (Ninkita) and Chrissie (PurpleC305), without whom this last couple of years would have been very dark indeed.

Yours,

Maggie

* * *

**In the last chapter, we were watching Agent Masen (known to the Volturi as Edward Cullen) showing off his poker skills when an unexpected commotion interrupted the game:**

_Edward's expression never changed as he flipped over his cards, and Bella finally realized that he had been betting, not on the short odds of a flush, but on the longer odds of a straight. Ace, two, three, four, five. The room hung on an inhalation of air, then burst into applause as the dealer pushed more than $10,000 of chips in front of the winner._

_Then he grinned, teeth straight, white and feral._

_In the commotion, Bella almost missed the way Aro's face turned white as he held one hand flat against his earpiece. He hastily pushed Jane aside and ran for the door, opening it just as William Gibbs staggered against the door frame, his white shirt soaked in blood._

_"Help! She cut me bad! And she stabbed Malcolm, stabbed him right through the throat. The psycho bitch killed Malcolm!" William gasped, then collapsed.  
_

* * *

Bella flailed her arms as, like Jane, she was thrust to one side. She landed on the floor, but she clambered quickly to her feet to see what was happening. Masen was already beside the injured man, guiding him to lie flat on the floor.

"Call a doctor if you want this man to survive," he barked at Aro, tearing open the blood-soaked shirt to reveal a single deep gash across William Gibbs' stomach.

Bella swayed and stumbled, crumpling to the floor in shock. She had toured crime scenes, seen hundreds of graphic photos, but nothing could have prepared her for the immediacy of the current crisis. The sounds and smells of violence were impossible to replicate. She was gripped by a surge of horrified panic. All around her, men were blurting out questions, demanding to see what was happening, shoving each other aside with elbows and shoulders. She lost sight of her partner, but she could hear his voice, giving out crisp orders for towels while tearing strips of table clothes to bandage the gruesome wound. The smell of blood, sweat and animal terror quickly filled the room, a coppery tang that burned her nose and turned her stomach.

She made herself small, sinking against the side of a sofa to watch the melee. Aro was speaking swiftly to three guards. Moments later they disappeared through a door in the rear of the room. Bella wondered where it led, but directed her attention back to the poker table where Marcus Volturi still sat, carefully sorting and stacking his chips. Was he furious? Worried? From where she crouched, he looked completely unaffected. What was wrong with him?

Jessica was clinging to the arm of her white-faced master. He was on his phone, speaking urgently, but his eyes kept returning to the chaotic scene in the doorway. Shouts of anger broke out as two black-suited guards dragged a defiant Zafrina into the room. Bella sat up straighter, watching in fear as the men brought her to stand before Aro. Her face was bruised, her dress was torn, and her right hand and arm were splattered with blood.

"My princess," Aro said mournfully. "Why?"

Zafrina drew air in through flared nostrils, turned her head and spat in the direction of the injured man. James appeared beside her and struck her full in the jaw with his fist. The force sent her head whipping to the side, but she didn't cry out. She turned her gold-lined eyes on him, looking down the length of her nose, and smiled. Blood stained her lips and teeth. James tripped back a step, and she laughed, a hollow, derisive sound. The gathered men fell silent, shocked, but their verbal abuse resumed as the guards removed her on Aro's command.

Michael stepped up then. "Doc said he'll come, we just need to send a car."

Aro sank back onto the couch weakly, saying, "Felix will go. Of course, he will go. Tell the dear doctor that a car is on its way. Oh, I can't believe this. It's too awful!" His voice rose into a helpless wail and he clutched one of Jane's delicate white hands in his.

Two of Royce King's lackeys hung close to Masen, following his terse commands. Bella caught occasional glimpses of William Gibbs as the other men moved about him. His face was ghastly white and still, and she began to think he might die. She was surprised at her own ambivalence. It would be unfortunate if they lost a contact who liked and trusted Edward Cullen, but her thoughts kept returning to the Amazonian captive.

What would become of her? It would be naive to hope for compassion or mercy. Could she really sit passively on the sidelines while her punishment was doled out by these monsters? An icy fist tightened around her heart. She already knew the answer. Masen had told her to be prepared. They could do nothing. They couldn't risk blowing their cover. Not yet.

When the doctor arrived, Masen relinquished control and disappeared to wash away the gore that coated his hands and clothes. He returned minutes later and beckoned stiffly for Bella to follow him from the room. None of the other men seemed to notice, but Bella looked up to see Jane's flat gray eyes following them. Goosebumps raced across her arms and down her back. The younger girl's eyes we completely devoid of personality or emotion. Stumbling slightly, Bella hurried to catch up with her partner.

Masen sent her to bed immediately, then disappeared into the bathroom. She was still awake when he exited the shower and wordlessly got ready for bed. Within moments of laying down beside her, he was asleep.

Minutes passed. Then hours. Bella couldn't sleep. Masen's breathing was low and even, but her anxiety seemed to ratchet higher and higher with each passing minute. Her mind chased the same question around and around. What was going to happen to Zafrina?

Bella was relieved when Masen finally sat up, pulled the curtains open and swung his legs over the side of the bed at quarter to six. The waiting and doing nothing was driving her insane. Whatever was going to happen, she knew they couldn't say or do anything to stop it. She was sick with worry, nauseated with fear, and certain that Zafrina was going to be sentenced to death, if her body wasn't already resting as the bottom of the ocean.

Masen's face was unreadable as he dressed for the day and sat down in front of his computer. Bella switched to autopilot, letting ingrained habits control her hands and body. When she was dressed and made up, Masen finally came to stand near her.

"We've been invited to witness the punishment of the rebellious whore. It should be educational. If you become a permanent resident here, it would be beneficial for you to understand your place."

His voice was Edward Cullen's, cold and brimming with irritation. But his eyes were his own. Bella focused on them, reading the real message he was trying to convey.

His eyes told her to be ready, to be strong, because their job wasn't to save a single woman. It was to save them all. They both needed to play their parts, to glean every possible detail about the Volturi, their operations and the dynamics between all the players. With so much attention being focused on Zafrina, there was a lot they could learn. Bella just wished their intelligence didn't have to come at such a high price.

When they reach the dining hall, the other captives were already assembled. Even Victoria was present, kneeling in the center of the front row. The women formed a semicircle six paces away from where Zafrina sat, crumpled on the floor. She had been beaten and chained to the wall, possibly since the night before, and her body seemed depleted.

There was a brief murmur of surprise from the other men as they watched Edward Cullen lead his own slave girl to kneel with the others. Bella sank to her knees and folded her arms across her stomach, her hands clenching the opposite elbows. Within minutes, the stone floor had sucked the warmth from her legs, and her knees began to throb. Bella peered between the shoulders of the women in front of her, but she couldn't tell if Zafrina was even breathing.

The men's excitement seemed to hum around the perimeter of the room. Their conversation dimmed somewhat when Aro appeared, then rose even higher when a large man joined him. Bella recognized the massive guardsman from her first day at the mansion. His forehead and jaw were square, and his features were strangely flat, making him look like a robotic version of Frankenstein's monster. He nodded twice in response to something Aro said, then walked across to the entryway where two large terra cotta jars flanked the great doors. Each held dozens of black-painted bamboo canes. He grasped several in one fist and drew them out, the canes making a sinister rasping and rattling sound as he hefted them and took an experimental swing.

Bella swallowed and closed her eyes. She had read stories of people being caned to death in other countries. She had always wondered how any human could stand by while another person was punished in so barbaric a fashion. Saliva pooled in her mouth, tasting of iron, and her eyes watered. She could feel her stomach heaving, and her throat worked furiously to keep the bile down. Bella breathed slowly in through her nose, then out between clenched teeth. In the background, Edward Cullen's chilling laughter rose up, and a dozen other voices joined in. He was telling jokes? How could he do that, knowing what they were about to witness?

"My darlings… My precious doves," Aro began, addressing the assembled young women. "We are all taught from a young age that actions lead to consequences, and disobedient, wicked actions lead to terrible consequences. Please, my sweet ladies, please don't put me in this position ever again. You know I would never willingly hurt a single hair on your lovely heads, but we must all play our part. We must all follow the rules. Alas, there is one among you who refuses to comply, absolutely rebels against the simplest request. All we ask is that you keep our guests happy. Be hospitable. Our treasured guests should want for nothing while visiting our home. And now we have lost one of our oldest, dearest friends, and another holds onto his life by a mere thread." He paused and bowed his head for a moment before concluding. "We have all heard 'a life for a life', but thankfully our esteemed host is eminently merciful."

Cries of disappointment and a loud 'boo' rang out from the men gathered at the rear of the room.

"Oh, gentlemen," Aro sighed, shaking his head, "Don't be like that. Come on in, come in closer. No crime goes unpunished. And you will each have a chance to help our headstrong Zafrina learn and grow from this unfortunate mistake."

Zafrina's body stiffened, and Bella realized she had been awake and listening all along. Did this mean that she would be allowed to live? Bella felt a surge of hope, but every muscle in the battered girl's body seemed to quiver in terror. What could be worse than being executed before these monsters?

"Master Felix, the floor is yours," Aro said with a flourish, then he skirted around the crowd to stand off to one side of the room.

Felix approached the prone captive, the bamboo canes dragging across the stone floor behind him with a screeching, hissing sound that raised all the hairs on Bella's neck.

"Kneel," he commanded in a bass voice that echoed off the walls.

Zafrina did not move.

The canes whistled through the air and landed across her legs with an angry snap.

Bella heard Zafrina's gasp of pain, but the prisoner didn't cry out. Instead, she unfolded from the floor and slowly drew herself up to her full height. She was only a couple inches shorter than her tormenter, and she looked directly into his eyes. Speaking slowly in a language Bella did not recognize, Zafrina delivered what sounded like a chilling curse, then turned to face the assembly. She knelt woodenly, her back straight and her shoulders drawn back. When the next blow landed, she raised her eyes to the men who had gathered to see a show, and she grinned.

Bella was overcome by a swarm of emotions. Confusion, pride, awe and fear. Zafrina was challenging her captors. Why? To enrage them further? To force their hand? Did she want to die today?

As blow after blow rained down, Bella listened to and watched the reactions of the other girls. Victoria was as still as a manikin, her expression blank and detached. Jane was staring into space, distant and unmoved. She could have been anywhere, just daydreaming. Jessica was picking at her nails, disinterested on the surface, but her shoulders twitched with every strike of the canes. Several had broken and splintered, and the canes now emitted a spray of red every time they struck Zafrina's back. Many of the girls were sobbing, hiding their faces and covering their ears. Bella had lost count after 20 blows, so she was startled when Felix stopped and turned to Aro for further instructions.

The jeering from the back of the room began anew. Aro took three steps forward, then stopped, his right hand jerking up to press against his earpiece. He half turned, and looked back toward the darkened passage beside which he had just been standing. He shook his head slowly, paused, then nodded reluctantly. A hush settled over the room, broken only by the sniffles of the crying girls and Zafrina's own harsh breathing. Her teeth were clenched, and all the muscles in her jaw stood out.

Aro carried out a whispered exchange with the Volturi executioner, then turned away, wringing his hands as he larger man left the room. Two uniformed guardsmen came forward and lifted Zafrina to her feet, but her knees buckled, and she sagged between them. Felix reappeared moments later, carrying a yellow-handled pair of pruners. When he came into view, Zafrina's composure broke, and she began to struggle futilely against the guards' grip.

The caning had been horrible enough. Bella could only imagine what other revenge they intended to inflict on their prisoner. She felt a scream rising up from her chest. She was on her feet before she knew what she was doing. One step, and her throat erupted into flames. An agonized gurgle escaped her mouth as her hands clawed at the collar around her neck.

Zafrina's shrieks of torment cut through the roaring in her ears. She tried to take one more step, but she stumbled over somebody's feet.

Through her tears, Bella saw a man looming up before her. "Imbecile," he said, his voice filled with outrage. His hand shot out as quick as a snake, and fire bloomed across her left cheek. But what stunned her into silence was not the sharp pain of Masen's slap. It was the knowledge that he had lied... The collar was still set to full strength.

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_Thank you all for sticking with me!_

_Now, for lighter fair, Ninkita has just started posting a fun and flirty drabble: "Summer Rain". And you probably know that I beta for the incredibly talented PurpleC305. We can all use a little more Bikerward in our lives, right!? I have it on good authority that Chapter 17 of "More Than Skin Deep" is coming very, very soon._


	48. Chapter 48

_A/N: I received such a warm welcome back... wow. Thank you. So many familiar readers and a bunch of new ones. I am so very, very grateful that I get to be part of this fandom. Thank you!_

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Bella sat, frozen in place, as the room gradually emptied around her. Eventually the only people who remained were her partner, still fuming, and two guards near the main entrance. The bamboo canes had been swept aside and lay in splinters against one wall. She could still smell the stink of blood and urine, although two of the Volturi captives had been forced to scrub the stones clean once Zafrina's unresponsive body had been dragged away.

"Come along then," Masen said stiffly.

Bella struggled to stand. Her hands and feet were tingling, and her knees ached. The first steps she took sent pain shooting from her ankles up to her hips. She raised her left hand to feel her face and found the skin puffy and hot to the touch. Her left eyelid was slightly swollen, and her vision swam as tears continued to seep from that eye.

Why couldn't she just wake up and find herself safe at home, far away from this nightmare? She knew the answer before the question was fully formed in her mind. Because none of them could. Not Alice or Zafrina, nor the girl with the doll or silent Jane.

Her thoughts skipped back to the seconds immediately before Masen had activated the collar. What had they done to Zafrina? She couldn't remember anything but the screams and accompanying hoots and jeers from the men. If she hadn't made a scene, would Masen have joined in their celebration? Just how far would he feel compelled to go to further their mission? His character was vile, absolutely evil. That had to come from somewhere. Somewhere inside his mind.

_I'm about as black as they come on this side of the line…_

Those were his words just a few days earlier. She had wondered then if he really believed them himself. Now she was beginning to question her own conviction about his character. But Jacob had agreed with her, called Masen a good man. So where did that leave them?

"Stop. Stay."

Bella halted at his command, only then realizing that they had reached the central courtyard. Sunlight was streaming down through the glass roof; clear, fresh and beautiful. She flinched away from the sudden brightness, shielding her eyes with one arm.

Why couldn't it be raining? Black clouds would have been more fitting... if this were a fictional tale. Bella reminded herself that the sun rose and set all over the globe with no consideration for the torment of any mere mortal. This was no soundstage, with lighting and a score to complement each scene. This was the real world, and birds sang beautifully outside the window as young women were drugged, raped and tortured. She had to let go of all her preconceived notions about the world and how it should operate. Masen's rage had been unfeigned. Those naive expectations had almost cost them everything this morning. Bella's knees shook when the full impact of her mistake, and the barely avoided catastrophe, sank in. Her fingers trembled as she felt the blue gemstone that rested just below her larynx. The pain and the panic were indescribable. However, she also felt intense relief flooding her body.

Bella took a shallow breath, then a slightly deeper one, and as her eyes adjusted, she peeked out to see what Masen was doing. Her partner stood several paces away, talking to Aro, who was laying back on a cushioned rattan settee with Jane nestled snugly against his side. Today Aro's slacks were tangerine orange, and his shirt was a tightly-tailored blend of turquoise silk and bright yellow piping. The combination was so garish that Bella had trouble looking away.

Mr. Cullen's stern voice reached her clearly, sounding slightly impatient. "If I have to travel on short notice, I want to take her with me. No offense, but I do not trust James. Not after that little tantrum he threw last night. And, if she's documented, Marie is worth that much more to her next owner. I would have taken care of it before I left Seattle, but..."

"Ah, yes… I believe I heard rumors…"

"So you understand my predicament. Can you help me?" The businessman leaned with one hand on the back of the settee, and his other hand in his pocket, so Aro had to crane his head and look into the sun to address him directly.

Aro blinked against the glare and looked back down at his petite companion. "Mr. Volturi has taken a liking to your little girl. She might have no need of identification after all. Give us a little time. I'm sure we'll turn up a suitable replacement soon."

"I'm confident you will. That's why I came to you in the first place. Perhaps I'm throwing money away, but I value my mobility. At the moment, I have very little if I want to keep the girl in my sight."

"You make an excellent point," Aro replied thoughtfully. He paused, his perfectly manicured fingers trailing gently up and down Jane's spine. When he spoke again, his voice was cheerful and upbeat. "I feel comfortable speaking for Mr. Volturi when I say that he values your friendship and would be pleased to extend you this consideration. One of our men will give you instructions on how to contact a man you can trust to do the job professionally… and discretely. In fact, he takes visitors most Sundays. How do you feel about taking a short drive down the coast tomorrow?"

"I have no other plans."

"How perfect!" Aro stretched, dislodging the girl at his side. "Run along now, my pet. You haven't had any breakfast yet."

Bella was so engrossed in their conversation that she did not hear the soft steps behind her until the man spoke.

"Well, hello, my darling dormouse," a gentle voice greeted her.

Bella looked up with a start to see Marcus Volturi standing casually with his hands clasped at the small of his back.

"Such a lovely day," he continued. "It appears that young Aro and the esteemed Mr. Cullen are deep in conversation. More's the pity. They would have loved this. Walk with me. I would very much like to show you something."

"Mr. Cullen told me not to move," she whispered.

Bella willed her partner to turn her way, but when several seconds passed and the other two men were still locked in conversation, Mr. Volturi slipped his arm through hers and tugged her gently around to walk beside him.

"I don't think-" she protested feebly, but the old man shushed her.

"It's fine. It's fine. Aro will find us. He knows how much I love to visit my pretties."

Bella caught her toe on the edge of a paver, stumbled and fell, almost pulling her escort down with her. She cried out a little louder than necessary, and felt a surge of satisfaction when she saw Masen and Aro glance their way. At least she knew that Masen was aware of who she was with and the direction they were going.

"Careful, my dear," he admonished her gently, patting the back of her hand with one pale, long-fingered hand. She apologized in a breathless rush and allowed Mr. Volturi to lead her across the courtyard and through an ornate archway to the open air.

The fresh ocean breeze was invigorating after the oppressive darkness of the mansion's interior and the bright heat of the atrium. They paused a moment and looked out across the ocean, the waters a translucent blue-green expanse, only occasionally broken by thin white lines of foam.

A concrete and timber pier extended out into the water, with two motorboats docked on one side and a sailing boat moored on the other. Fifty yards offshore a magnificent yacht was anchored, the sun gleaming off its polished teak deck and shining copper rails.

Bella froze as if in awe, taking in as much of the scene as she could before the old man prodded her to move again. The walls of the compound extended into the water on both sides, so that the stretch of white sand was invisible to both the neighboring properties. Tall coconut palms further obscured the view. While the roofs of the mansions on either side were clearly visible, Bella could not make out a single window or balcony. A black-coated Volturi guard was patrolling the beach with a heavily-muscled Rottweiler on a short leash at his heel.

"This way, this way. It really is marvelous." The old man's voice quickened with his excitement.

He had yet to mention the horrific scene in the dining room. Had he seen her outburst and Edward Cullen's response? Unsure of what to expect, Bella reluctantly allowed herself to be towed along. Near the north property line, a greenhouse sat, its steeply-pitched roof made up of immaculate glass panels mounted in an oxidized bronze framework. Four of the panels were propped open for ventilation, but the door itself was shut. Bella's anxiety grew as they approached the structure. She could see that the interior was sheathed in fine netting, while closely spaced flowers and trees obscured her view of what lay inside.

"Move quickly now," Marcus said in an agitated whisper, opening the door no more than a foot before pushing the trembling girl inside and squeezing through right behind her.

Bella pushed through the green netting, her eyes flinching closed as the silky strands caught on her hair and eyelashes. The air was still and close, heavy with the scents of rich soil and tropical blooms. Sweat was already gathering on her scalp and neck, dripping down to soak her clothes. But she shivered all the same. As she opened her eyes, a fluttering sound near her ear made her jump and squeak.

"Look, she likes you. Haha!" the old man cackled, holding out his finger to coax a large butterfly from her hair.

The greenhouse was alive with butterflies. They clung to the nets along the ceiling and walls, wings opening and closing lazily in the tropical heat. Bella saw every color of the rainbow, but the beauty balancing on Marcus's slender index finger was the most eye-catching of all. It was a giant iridescent blue and black butterfly, its vivid wings spread wide to show off. Each wing was traced with delicate veins and bordered with black, white spots highlighting the scalloped wing edge. The tiny, feather-like scales quivered with every movement of the air around them. Bella found herself holding her breath.

"She is the only one to survive her hatching. Such a treasure, is she not?"

"It's beautiful," Bella agreed, her voice barely raised beyond a whisper.

The creature was more than four inches across. As they watched, its wings closed for a moment, revealing the soft beige and brown markings of its ventral wing surface. When they opened again, the light glinted off the brilliant blue.

Marcus hummed and nodded, tilting his head to examine the specimen more closely. "Just like a dormouse, timid and oh so modest. One has to know exactly where to look to find her. But when she spreads her wings, who can look away? Eh, my dear?" He fixed his pale brown eyes on her face, and Bella found herself trapped, unable to look away.

She didn't know what to make of the Volturi mastermind. He was distant but intense, gentle and sweet one moment, yet seemingly unaffected by the horrific crimes committed under his roof, on his orders. Bella could not shake the image from just an hour earlier of Aro receiving instructions and meting out punishments that could have only come from this man. How could evil present itself with such gentility? Even elegance?

Marcus Volturi laid his finger alongside a feeder and blew gently until the butterfly rose and resettled itself. He began to point out each species in turn, describing their natural habitats and unique characteristics. She listened attentively, wondering what other motive he could have for separating her from her master.

Heavy footsteps sounded outside, and the door opened to admit one of the guardsmen.

"Sir," he began.

"The door, the door! Shut the door!" Marcus cried, flapping his hands urgently.

The man jerked the door closed, looking around to make sure none of the winged insects had slipped by him.

"I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Aro sent me to remind you that you must depart in under ten minutes. Can I escort you to your vehicle?"

"Is it time to go already? Well, that is a shock. Such a busy morning we've had. My darling Marie, I'm sorry. We've only just gotten acquainted."

Bella bit her lip desperately. This was her opportunity to learn something about their strange nemesis. "Will you be gone long?" she finally stammered.

"Will I be gone long… I think so. But not too long. I'm not going far. Just far enough. For the fresh air, you see?" he said, a contented smile stretching his thin lips. "I hope you will still be here when I return. You are a special one, just like my pretty morpho menelaus." His voice drifted off into a wistful sigh, and Bella looked at the guard in alarm.

"Sir? Your appointment begins in fifty minutes. Allow me to escort you to your vehicle." The guard pulled back the netting and opened the door, beckoning the old man to join him. A salty breeze swept in, lifting Bella's hair and awakening the butterflies.

Marcus howled in panic, lean arms swooping around to close the curtain. A flash of blue, a clap of his hands, and he crowed in relief. "Got her. Such a spirited thing, my beauty. But she wouldn't survive a day out there. The sea birds would snap her up in flash. Here, Marie. Please hold her for me." Bella held out her cupped hands as ordered. Mr. Volturi transferred the butterfly to her shaking palms and eased himself through the doorway. "Have a lovely day, my dear. And please come here as often as you wish. They shall be lonely otherwise."

The door closed and latched behind him, and Bella gulped in lungfuls of the now still air. She looked down in horror at the once-perfect butterfly. Her wings were snapped, the delicate scales smudged and missing in several places, and thick yellow fluid oozed from the cracks in her exoskeleton. Bella sank to the ground, tears of confusion and terror dripping down her cheeks as, one after another, the delicate, tawny legs flexed, uncurled and lay still.

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_A/N: For those who have asked, we're approximately 2/3 through my outline. Next chapter is longer and more complex, so it might take me a couple weeks to get it just right. Thanks in advance for your patience._


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